A Familiar Voice An Unfamiliar Face
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: AU Tim-centered story. My entry for the NFA Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge. The U.S. has been fighting a crime war...and it's losing. To help the LEOs fight, drastic measures are taken to protect them. At any cost. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is the story I wrote for the NFA Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge. It is AU, not drastically so. All the characters are pretty much the same, but there are a few dramatic differences, particularly in Tim's life...which you'll see as you read. I do make use of my own personal fanon for Tim's family, i.e. Sam and Naomi McGee. A summary of who they are can be found on my profile page.

**Disclaimer:** I do not now, nor will I ever own NCIS, real or fictional. I'm also not making money off these stories I right, but I'd take it. Man, even a penny per word would have me sitting pretty for a while. :)

* * *

><p><strong>A Familiar Voice...an Unfamiliar Face<br>**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

"Talk to me, McGee," Gibbs growled. "I can't see a thing in this soup."

"_The man is located fifty feet ahead of you. He has taken shelter behind an overturned garbage bin. He has a clear shot on you if you stand up. You can't get him by yourself."_

"You calculated the odds of this?" he asked dryly.

"_I don't need to. Logic tells me without calculations. Based on your location, the fact that you can't see, and the fact that he appears to be equipped with infrared goggles, you're not going to be able to get him. I've called for backup. They should arrive in moments."_

"That's not your call, McGee!" Gibbs said, now angry.

"_Actually, it is. You are under my care for as long as you are out in the field. If I judge that circumstances are too dangerous for you by yourself, I have the authority to call out the cavalry. ...and I so judge."_

Gibbs grumbled under his breath but was careful not to actually say anything aloud. Tim had amazingly accurate hearing.

"_I thought you'd see it my way,"_ Tim said and he might as well have been grinning mischievously...not that Gibbs would ever know. _"They'll be there in about two minutes. I've instructed them to come around behind him. He'll never know what hit him."_

Gibbs was surprised at the satisfaction in Tim's voice. He usually kept things very professional, without any comment on what Gibbs was doing, the case he was pursuing. He might as well be a machine, one just like the computers with which he interfaced. ...but every so often, Tim would remind Gibbs that he _wasn't_ a machine.

"You seem to be taking this kind of personally, McGee," Gibbs said, killing time until his backup arrived. Every so often, he'd lean up and shoot toward the garbage bin, making sure that his suspect wouldn't flee. "It's not like you. What's up?"

Gibbs didn't expect a real response. Tim never talked about anything other than the case at hand. They were colleagues...of a sort. Not friends. So he was surprised when Tim answered, sounding...almost emotional.

"_This man is suspected to have killed five LEOs in the last month. One was under my care."_ There was a long pause and when Tim spoke again, he had the strained tone of one trying to keep his emotions under control. _"I do not...wish him to escape and do so again."_

"And you don't want this to happen to me?" Gibbs asked, wondering, for nearly the first time, what the rest of Tim's life was like.

"_No, I do not. You shouldn't have come out here without your team in the first place. It was reckless. You berate your team for not taking backup with them, but you do it every opportunity you get."_

"I have backup."

"_Oh, really?"_

"Yes. You."

Another long pause...and Tim's voice was strange and unfamiliar when he spoke again.

"_I am...flattered, Agent Gibbs. I am not a part of your team, however."_

"Oh, really? You've been my eyes in the skies for the last eight years. What would _you_ call your position if not a part of my team?"

"_I am..."_ Tim stopped and then when he resumed speaking was back to the usual professional tone. _"Your backup has arrived. Agents DiNozzo and David are taking up flanking positions. They will need to speak with you. I have removed the firewall on your channel."_

"Thanks. Tony, Ziva," Gibbs said, testing the connection as he did every time he reconnected with his team. Tim had never failed him once in that regard but old habits died hard.

"_Here, Boss,"_ Tony said. _"Where's the dirtbag?"_

"_McGee already told us, Tony,"_ Ziva said. _"He has not moved from the garbage bin, Gibbs?"_

Gibbs fired another shot toward the bin...and then ducked when there was a return volley.

"Nope. Still there."

"_Excellent. This guy needs to be taken down before he gets anyone else."_

"Agreed," Gibbs said, thinking of Tim's sudden expression of emotion. Sometimes, he did wonder about Tim, who he was, _where_ he was. "Let's get him."

With the rest of his team, taking down their suspect was a cinch. He got only one more shot off before he was tackled by Tony and then roughly cuffed by Ziva.

"You okay, Boss?" Tony asked when the three joined up again.

"Not a scratch," he replied.

"You really should not wander off by yourself, Gibbs," Ziva said. "It is not safe."

"Our _jobs_ aren't safe," Gibbs said. "That's the name of the game. If I had wanted to be _safe_ all the time, I wouldn't be in this line of work. Get him out of here before I just kill him on general principle."

Ziva nodded stiffly and hauled their suspect away. Tony paused.

"I'm surprised you called for backup, Boss. I mean, I'm glad you did, but it's not like you."

"McGee called for backup. He took matters into his own hands."

"Really? McNurse Maid showed some backbone? Good for him. You can tell him that I approve."

_Thwack!_

"Get going, DiNozzo."

Tony smiled cheekily and saluted. "Yes, sir. Don't stay out here too long."

"I won't."

Tony followed Ziva to their car and Gibbs headed back toward his own.

"_He's right, you know."_

"You're not supposed to listen in after the case is closed, McGee," Gibbs said, although the reprimand wasn't serious.

"_The case _isn't_ closed. Not yet. So far, you have a suspect in custody. Time will tell as to whether or not he's the one you're looking for. So the case isn't over."_

"You feeling your oats today or something, McGee? I don't think you've been so...assertive in the eight years I've known you."

"_It's not safe for law enforcement to be out on the streets alone. Why do you think I'm here? Get in your car and to the safety of numbers."_

Gibbs continued his walk, but also continued the conversation, interested in keeping Tim talking for as long as he would.

"If we don't assert our authority, we'll never push back against these criminals who have taken control of the streets."

"_Perhaps, but you won't push back if you're dead. Corpses don't have much muscle tone. Just follow the rules, Agent Gibbs. At least when asserting your authority, do it with backup in place...and not just me. I'm not there."_ And then, again, for the first time, Tim revealed something about himself. _"Even if I _was_ there, I would be very little help to you. So get in your car."_

Gibbs unlocked his car and got inside.

"I'm inside. Happy?"

"_Yes. Have a safe journey. Signing off."_

"Wait, McGee!" Gibbs said quickly.

"_Yes, Agent Gibbs? Is there something else you need?"_ The professional tone was back.

"I just wanted to say thank you."

Another of those strange pauses. _"Thanks are not required. I am simply doing my job, Agent Gibbs. Safe journey."_

There was a nearly-inaudible click signaling the end of the conversation, although there would be a trace on him until he reached safety. Gibbs put his car in gear and drove back to NCIS. He had resisted the idea of getting an Observer eight years ago when this crime war had started...but the death of Chris Pacci had made him realize that sometimes it was necessary. Chris could have been saved if an Observer had been tracking his movements when he'd gone undercover. An Observer like Tim would have known that there was someone following him.

Keeping the Observers completely separate from the people they protected also helped. That meant there was little chance of forming the kind of bonds that would allow a LEO to persuade his Observer that it was the best choice to let him go off by himself.

And yet...

...Gibbs sometimes fell into the trap of forgetting that it was a real human being on the other end of the line. Tim sometimes spoke like a computer. He certainly must have amazing computer skills...but he was a human being. Tonight had proved that if nothing else had.

No one knew where the Observers watched from. Most of the LEOs assumed that there was a kind of Observer center where many Observers watched their charges together. Gibbs didn't think so. Tim struck him as a loner. Besides, there were no background sounds indicating the presence of others. Tim watched his charges by himself, Gibbs would swear to it.

While he would never know who Tim really was or what he looked like, Gibbs was glad to have him on his six.

Even out in the dangerous streets of DC, he felt safe knowing that Tim was watching him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim arched his back as he removed the head set. Gibbs was the most difficult charge he had. The other five officers he watched were less trouble...all put together. And yet, Gibbs was the one he cared most about, perhaps because he had been called on so often. One of Tim's charges was a retired sergeant who only rarely even left his house. Tim usually had him on automatic tracking. He would not deny anyone their right to protection, but this man seemed to think he was more important than he actually was.

The others went through ebbs and flows. Only Gibbs constituted that constant drain on his time.

Tim gave a wry smile as he watched the red blip moving across the screen, eventually taking up residence in the parking garage at NCIS. The smile became wistful. That was where he had always hoped to work. The dreams had been dashed by the car accident he'd been in at age sixteen, but he still had harbored a hope. Even now, he kept up with his exercises, hoping that, one day, his legs would be strong enough to hold him up.

Tim looked down at the braces encasing both legs and then forced himself to stand and totter to the bathroom. He was glad that he had _some_ mobility, but he'd never be the kind of person he'd dreamed of being. Instead of doing...he observed.

"_Tim, there are openings for that new Observer position. They need people watching the NCIS team leaders."_

"_Watching," Tim repeated dully._

"_Those who can't do...watch."_

"_I thought those who couldn't do taught."_

"_Nope. They watch. You know the rules and regs for NCIS. You've had them memorized for years. You know all the procedures...and you might as well _be_ a computer for how well you work with them. They'd count themselves lucky to have you on board."_

_Tim sighed. Every medical checkup sent his dreams further and further away from reality. _

"_I know this isn't what you wanted for your life, Tim, but it's the best you can do."_

"_You said that my legs would heal!" Tim protested._

"_I said that they _could_ heal, Tim, and I don't know why they're not. Maybe someday..."_

But someday had never come and Tim was left a cripple, staring at a screen all day, watching others do the job he desperately wanted for himself.

...but tonight...tonight, Gibbs had managed to break through his veneer...and it had been so very easy to do. Tim smiled. Gibbs could never have any idea how much it meant to be called a part of his team...even if it wasn't true.

Briefly, as he sat back at his computers, Tim allowed himself to daydream about truly being Agent Timothy McGee, working with Gibbs and his team, fighting back in this crime war that gripped the nation.

Then, the dream faded and Tim shut down the non-essential electronics. He had already given up on the dream coming to fruition. He drew a solid paycheck as an Observer. He had access to the kind of circuitry and computer systems most hackers would kill for. ...and he got to at least interact with the agents. That was something.

"I can be happy with this. I know I can."

There was a helpful bark. Tim smiled. There was one thing that he would definitely _never_ tell Gibbs.

"Jethro, you're as persistent as your namesake," he said with a smile. "Let's go out."

Jethro. Named after Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Tim felt it appropriate that the dog he'd been forced to adopt by one of his cyber friends, Abby Sciuto...who also worked at NCIS...should be named after the man he both protected and admired.

Tim got his racing wheelchair out and transferred over to it before letting Jethro push the buttons that would let them out of the apartment and into the foggy evening of Washington DC.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gibbs looked at his boat for a while. He didn't really want to work on it tonight. Tim's emotions, slight as they were, had made him think. He didn't want to waste time working on yet another boat.

"Sorry, but I need a walk," he said to the unfinished boat and headed upstairs and out the door.

He knew he'd have to drive to walk. Outside DC, it was marginally safer to walk around out of doors...even if it wasn't perfectly safe...but then, even _before_ this crime war had begun there hadn't been a perfectly safe location anywhere. There was always a chance. It's just that the chances were higher now than they had been.

While Gibbs resented being hemmed in by the criminals, even he was willing to concede that there was a difference between bravery and stupidity.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was funny, but Tim had never felt unsafe when he went out in the evenings. The streets were mostly empty, but he'd always been fine, never even someone looking at him wrong. ...although he had to admit that it probably was due in large measure to the German shepherd who trotted faithfully beside him. Besides that, Silver Spring wasn't as much a hotbed of crime as DC...and New York...and Los Angeles...and all the other major cities in the United States. It was funny how that invisible border made a difference.

They got to the nearby park and Tim began tossing the ball. Not too far since he didn't want Jethro getting distracted by other things, like cats or birds. He always strapped himself into his wheelchair so that if he had to give chase after his dog, he'd be able to catch him quickly.

"Come on back, Jethro!" he called after a few minutes. "Let's stick together, okay?"

Jethro barked at him, resisted for a minute or two and then headed back to Tim. He jumped up and rested his front paws on Tim's braces.

"Stupid dog," he said with a smile. "You know I'm not going to send you after those pigeons but you keep hoping...every day." He grabbed Jethro's head and rubbed his ears and then hugged him. "Love you, Jethro. Let's head home."

Jethro licked his face and barked softly. Then, he led the way back to the sidewalk. They began to head back to Tim's apartment when a voice behind him drew him up short.

"I don't see many people out here in the evenings."

Tim's heart thudded heavily in his chest as he turned around to face the man speaking to him. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice, letting his stammer come out full throttle. He'd had speech therapy to get rid of it completely, but he could let it out when he wanted to. Like now.

"I'm...n-n-not af-fraid, s-sir," he said and smiled.

"You're not?" the man asked with a smile.

Tim would recognize this voice anywhere.

"I-I-It's a s-s-speech imp-p-pediment. Has n-n-nothing t-t-t-to do with m-my b-b-being af-f-raid," Tim said, feeling a bit affronted.

The smile widened. "Well, I'm impressed. There aren't too many people who brave the outdoors once the sun goes down."

"I-I-I w-w-wouldn't m-miss it f-f-for the world. I l-l-like coming outside."

"Me, too. I'm Jethro Gibbs." He extended his hand.

Tim hesitated and then put on his brakes and shook it.

"H-Hi. I'm...T-Thom. Gemcity."

Jethro (the dog) began jumping around, wanting attention and interested in playing longer.

"And who is this?"

"M-My d-d-dog." Tim couldn't see how to pretend his dog had a different name. Jethro wouldn't answer to any other name. "J-Jethro."

"Really? What a coincidence," Gibbs said with a smile.

"Yeah. I'm h-headed h-home n-n-now. N-Nice t-t-to m-meet you." Tim took off the brakes and began wheeling away.

"Hey, no rush. I'll walk with you, if you don't mind."

"Okay. Why?" Tim asked, feeling a bit worried about this.

"I don't have many chances to talk with anyone outside of work."

Tim nodded but then remembered he wasn't supposed to understand exactly what Gibbs meant.

"What d-d-do you d-d-do?"

"Law enforcement."

Knowing the appropriate response, Tim gave it. "Wow."

"Someone has to do it. What about you?"

"I-I-I'm a wr-r-riter."

"Make a lot doing that?"

Tim smiled. _Not a cent anymore,_ he thought. "En-n-nough."

"That's good." Gibbs looked both ways. "Don't you get worried about being alone out here?"

Tim smiled. "B-B-Being alone isn't th-th-the problem. It's when p-p-people are around."

Gibbs laughed. "Good point."

"I-I-I'm n-n-not f-f-far from h-here," Tim said, making it clear that he wasn't ready for Gibbs to see where he lived.

Thankfully, Gibbs took the hint.

"Nice talking to you."

"You, t-t-too," Tim said, half-regretting the need to hide who he was.

"See ya, later, Thom," Gibbs said and walked off down the sidewalk, back the way they'd come.

Tim sighed as Gibbs receded out of hearing range. "No...but I'll hear ya later, Gibbs," he said softly and then looked down at his dog. "Okay, Jethro. Race you home."

Jethro barked loudly and took off, Tim in hot pursuit, laughing all the while.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs turned quickly when he heard Jethro barking. Then, he watched in surprise as his new acquaintance sped away on his wheelchair. He would never have thought that the seemingly-placid young man had that kind of gusto in him. The laugh that echoed out over the quiet street was different, too.

_Someday, that will be normal again,_ he thought to himself._ Someday, we'll win and people will be able to be outside after dark without being afraid. They'll be like Thom is right now. Unafraid._

For now, however, Gibbs headed back to his car, back to the safety of his home, unfortunately forced to let the criminals win for another day.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay awake for a quite a while in bed after he got back to his apartment. He had done his exercises as usual and then got into bed...but he couldn't sleep. One of the rules from the handbook was going through his mind.

_You are not to make personal contact with any of your charges. If you form a personal relationship with them, be it accidental or otherwise, you must remove yourself as their Observer._

"It was only a conversation. I didn't start it. It was him...and I left as soon as I could. He didn't know who I was," Tim whispered at the ceiling. "I can still be objective and he knows nothing about me. It's still okay."

Even as he said those things, Tim knew that he wasn't really objective. No Observer who had long-term assignments _could_ be objective, not wholly, but he figured that was a good thing, not a bad thing. His job was to protect one person no matter what the cost. The problem lay in letting the person being protected form the personal connection because _that_ was where the manipulation could take place.

"As long as he never knows..."

Then, there was a buzz in his ear. It was Gibbs' tone. He sat up and linked in to the implanted radio. Every Observer and every LEO who was a part of the Observer program had an implanted communications device just behind their ears. It functioned as a permanent microphone and earpiece. When Tim was working at his computers, he preferred a headset, but if he was away from his apartment, he could at least keep in contact until he could get back to his equipment.

"This is your Observer. What is it that you need, Agent Gibbs?" he asked, using the standard greeting drummed into him from day one.

"_Cut the formal stuff, McGee. How many times do I have to tell you that?"_

"Until you sign my paychecks, Agent Gibbs, you will receive the formal greeting required by my supervisors. What do you need? I was unaware of a continued requirement for investigation on your current case."

"_It's not about a case."_

"Then, it is irrelevant to the Observer system," Tim said, even as his curiosity made him want to know why Gibbs was contacting him.

"_I have a question for you."_

"Regarding a future observation need or regarding the current case?"

"_Neither."_

"Then, it is irrelevant to the Observer system, Agent Gibbs."

"_Is there anyone recording our conversations?"_ Gibbs asked.

"Conversations between Observers and their charges are recorded if and only if such action is dictated by–"

"_Do you always have to talk like that, McGee? This isn't something vital to national security. I just needed a yes or no answer."_

Tim sighed. Gibbs wasn't getting put off by the formal-speak as he often was.

"Have you ever requested a recording be made?"

"_No."_

"Then, the conversation is not being recorded."

"_Good. Then, there's no reason for you to avoid answering my questions if no one is monitoring."_

Tim rolled his eyes...but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. One of the things that made Gibbs such a good agent was his tenacity once something got in his head.

"What's your question, Agent Gibbs?" he asked.

"_You go outside occasionally, right?"_

Tim's heart started thudding loudly in his chest. Did Gibbs know? Had he recognized Tim's voice? What would happen if he had to remove himself as Gibbs' Observer? However, when he spoke, there was no sign of that. Only his usual calm tone.

"Of course, I do, Agent Gibbs."

"_There's no 'of course' about it, McGee, and you know it. Lots of people are homebound nowadays."_

"Well, I do go outside. It's not like I could avoid it. My paycheck doesn't cover servants who cater to my every whim. I have to get groceries at least."

"_And are you ever afraid of going outside?"_

"Of course, I am. Everyone gets afraid sometimes."

"_And you still go outside?"_

"Yeah. I told you. I don't have much choice."

"_What if you did? Would you still go outside, even knowing the dangers?"_

"Probably. I've never been in that situation, though, so I guess I can't know for sure. Is that everything, Agent Gibbs?" Tim asked.

There was a pause.

"_Why do you do this, McGee?"_

"Why do _you_ do what you do?"

"_I get the feeling you probably know the answer already."_

Tim smiled. "I have a good idea."

"_Then, why ask?"_

"Because I can't answer your question."

"_Why not?"_

"It is irrelevant for the Observers to–"

"_Knock it off, McGee. Just answer."_

"I...can't do that, Agent Gibbs. It is late and if you don't have any further problems, I will sign off."

"_Why don't you just answer the question, McGee? What harm could there be?"_

Tim paused again. He would like to make it more of a give-and-take, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't ruin the way things were, not when he was as close to having the life he wanted as he'd ever be. He fell back, once more, on the scripted responses contained in the Observer Handbook.

"As is written in the handbook, it is irrelevant to the successful work of an Observer to engage in personal commentary. Signing off." He gave the soft click signaling a disconnection and lay back in bed, shaking his head.

He fretted for a few seconds and then tried to get to sleep, hoping that Gibbs wouldn't resent him for ending the conversation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was surprised at the sudden click.

"McGee? McGee?"

No, it was true. Tim had ended the conversation. Gibbs was pretty sure it was the first time it had ever happened. He was used to being the one who both began and ended their interactions.

"The Observer Handbook," he mused. "I wonder if I could get one of those."

He wasn't any good at computers, but maybe he could find something that would tell him the rules Tim operated under.

Unless he missed his guess, Tim hadn't cut him off because he didn't like the conversation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Observer Handbook, version 2.6_

_Welcome to all you new Observers. We are pleased that you have accepted the duty and responsibility to watch over our brave law enforcement officers as they work to make our streets safer. Your job is an important one and a difficult one, but when you are successful, there is nothing more rewarding._

_You are saving lives every day that you sit at your terminal. Not only the lives of the officers you protect, but also the lives of all those protected by the officers. This job is not for everyone. Following the extensive tests before your job offer is extended, you will have a period of training to determine whether or not you are suited for this job. Once that is successfully completed, you will be assigned your first LEO. It will begin with the simpler jobs, mostly guarding retired high-ranking officers on their rare trips into the cities. Then, you will be able to look through those LEOs needing protection and offer your services to them specifically. While the LEOs do choose their protection, they do not choose whether or not protection is needed. This means that, occasionally, some may resist the idea and it is up to you to demonstrate the importance by doing your jobs well._

_Because this job is so important, there are a number of rules and regulations for you to follow. Not only must you be familiar with the procedures for whichever branch of law enforcement you serve, you must also know the limits and the extents of your authority as an Observer. We give you the rules, but it is up to you to understand them and know when and how to implement them._

_There are two ideas at the heart of almost all the other regulations governing your actions as an Observer._

_1. You are THE source of protection to the LEO or LEOs under your care. Often, they will have no one else besides you looking out for them. You can't sit around and wait for the last line of defense to arrive. You ARE the last line of defense. What you choose to do or not do can and will determine the fate of the LEO you observe._

_2. Complete anonymity. You are to be utterly divorced from the people you protect. This might seem strange at first, but there are reasons for it. You will lose some of your charges. Avoiding emotional attachments to them will maintain your own well-being and protect you against those inevitabilities. In addition, you are less likely to be persuaded by appeals to your emotions. These are important men and women. These are your charges. These are NOT your friends._

_Without these two ideas being upheld, the Observer system cannot work. You risk too many lives when you set either aside. Your safety and security and the safety and security of the entire nation is in the hands of law enforcement. Let's take back our cities. One street at a time._

_Read through this handbook early and often. Each section is important, designed to give you the vital information you need to do your job. It is clearly organized for your convenience and will be updated as needed. Every time a new handbook is issued, you are are REQUIRED to read it from cover to cover._

_Table of Contents_

_Part I - Your equipment  
><em>_Part II - Your authority  
><em>_Part III - The Rules  
><em>_Part IV - Troubleshooting  
><em>_Part V - Salary, Benefits_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_I'm home safe and sound, Observer McGee."_

Tim smiled. "I can see that, sir. I'm glad. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"_Not at all. Thanks for your backup."_

"It is the duty of the Observers to provide protection to law enforcement officials. It is my pleasure to provide that protection to you."

There was no response, only the click that signaled the end. Tim shook his head and pulled off the headset. Some of his charges made the anonymity easy. They cared about his presence only insofar as he kept them safe. That was the case with most of them, actually. Only Gibbs...

...but for now, Tim was pretty sure he had some free time. Gibbs was supposed to be working on gathering evidence on the suspect they'd arrested, meaning that he wouldn't need Tim's observation. Faced with the prospect of a free evening, Tim sighed with relief. That was, of course, no guarantee that an emergency wouldn't come up, but he could hope for a full open evening.

With that thought in mind, he tottered from his work computer to his personal computer and logged on.

Almost instantly he had a message.

_Abbsolute: Timmy! You're on!_

Tim smiled.

_McGeek: Hey, Abbs. How are things?_

_Abbsolute: Enough of this typing. I've been typing all day. Let's chat in person! I have the evening off tonight!_

_McGeek: You've probably been talking all day, too. ;)_

_Abbsolute: Come on, Timmy. We haven't hung out in ages! Whatever it is you do must keep you really busy._

_McGeek: Pretty busy. ...but I should be free for the evening. I can't make any guarantees though._

_Abbsolute: I can't either. You never know when I'll get called in._

_McGeek: Okay, then, where? It can't be too far, you know. I don't have much distance in me._

_Abbsolute: I'll come and get you! We can take Jethro along with us!_

_McGeek: You know places that'll take a German shepherd?_

_Abbsolute: Oh, just you wait. You in?_

_McGeek: Just you?_

_Abbsolute: You know, Tony and Ziva are a lot of fun._

Tim shook his head.

_McGeek: I told you. Not gonna happen._

_Abbsolute: Okay, okay. I won't push it, but I think you're too sensitive about your legs. They didn't put me off, you know. ;D_

_McGeek: :blush: Don't go there, Abbs._

_Abbsolute: You in?_

_McGeek: When you coming over?_

_Abbsolute: As soon as I put my car in gear and drive!_

_McGeek: I'll be watching for you._

_Abbsolute: Great! See you later!_

Tim logged off and smiled. Sometimes, it was hard having his job since he couldn't tell anyone what he did. That was also in the Observer rules. Only his immediate family was allowed to know his occupation. The funny thing was how well the stipulation worked. It worked because no one besides the Observers were allowed access to the Observer Handbook. That meant that no one except Observers knew that Observers weren't allowed to give their occupation. So Tim could tell someone like Abby that his job was classified and she didn't try to pry. Maybe she did, but either she hadn't succeeded or realized that it had to be secret.

The other nice thing was that, once he had discovered she worked in the same place Gibbs did, he could beg off hanging out with her other NCIS pals by claiming he didn't want people staring at him because of the braces on his legs. It had, so far, been a successful ruse.

"Well, Jethro. You ready to go out with Abby tonight?"

Jethro began barking excitedly. Tim hadn't been exactly _thrilled_ about getting Jethro. Abby had basically forced him to take the dog in a couple of years ago, but Jethro was great company now and Tim was glad he had him. His job made it hard to form a lot of attachments, but Jethro was always there...which gave him _some_ companionship.

Knowing that Abby wouldn't waste any time driving up to his place, Tim got ready quickly. He hated the requirement, but there weren't any braces that fit under his clothes. That meant that he always had to have them on and visible. Technically, since he only went out with his wheelchair, he could go without the braces, but he could only manage a couple of steps without the braces and if something happened, he wanted to be able to get somewhere on his own. It was a stubbornly-independent streak he still had. The same streak that refused to accept that he'd never be able to walk without the braces.

By the time he left his apartment and wheeled himself out to the sidewalk, Abby was just pulling onto his street. He smiled and waved at her.

"Timmy! Hop in!"

Hopping in was pretty much impossible, but he rolled over to the door and then stood and stowed his wheelchair in the back seat. Abby had long since learned that Tim didn't like to have help with this kind of thing and so she smiled and waited. It took longer, but Tim felt better about it. After only a few minutes, Tim was safely in the front seat, Jethro was in back with the wheelchair.

Abby grinned.

"Tim, it's so good to see you again. Chatting over the computer is fine, but sometimes, don't you want to have real human contact?"

Tim laughed. "Abby, somehow, I doubt that you _ever_ lack for human contact."

Abby laughed, too, but then she became serious. "Tim, don't you ever get lonely? I know you don't go very many places and don't see many people. Aren't you lonely?"

Tim shrugged. "I'm happy with the life I've been able to have, Abby."

"That's not what I asked. Isn't there anything you'd change if you could?"

Tim forced a laugh. "Well, I'd certainly be walking if I could. Then, I'd be doing other things with my life than I am. ...but I've been trying for years and nothing has worked. Something about that accident has made my legs worthless things..." He stared at his legs and then looked at Abby and smiled wanly. "...but socially? Nope. I'm good."

Abby laughed gently and then stroked his cheek before putting her car in gear and driving away. Tim took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Yes. There were things he'd change.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Boss, how much longer do we have to stay?" Tony asked.

"Until we figure out why this doesn't fit together."

"What do you mean, Gibbs?" Ziva asked. "This man was killing members of law enforcement. It is, unfortunately, very common. He is just another cop killer."

"That's why this doesn't work. He was so careful for a month and then he lets one man out by himself pin him down? Why?"

"Not just any man," Tony said with a smile. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Focus! What are we missing?"

"Maybe we're not missing anything, Boss. What makes you think we are? We caught the guy. Even the best criminals screw up."

"It was too easy," Gibbs said. "Way too easy."

"Well, you do have McObserver in your ear. That gives you a bit of an advantage over the bad guys. In fact, when are the rank-and-file cops going to get those things?"

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss. I guess I don't really want one. It'd probably short out with how many times you slap my head."

Ziva laughed. "Yes, I am sure it would present a challenge for them."

Gibbs sat back and then looked at Tony speculatively.

"Okay, Boss. I know that look. It means that something one of us said made you think of something important. What is it?"

"I have an Observer."

"Yeah, I know, Boss."

"At least one other victim did as well."

"How do you know _that_?" Ziva asked. "The lists of the people with Observers is not put up anywhere. It is not...a secret, but it is not advertised."

"I just do." He stood up and headed for the stairs to Vance's office.

"Where are you going, Boss?" Tony called.

"To find a list, Tony!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim glared at someone who stared for a bit too long.

"Tim," Abby said soothingly, "they don't mean anything by it."

"I'm tired of people staring at me, Abby. I'm in a wheelchair. I have braces. I'm not a _freak_."

"I know, Tim," Abby said, her voice low. "But you need to let it go. Jethro's going to start growling."

Tim looked down at Jethro whose ears were flattened against his head. He patted him.

"It's okay, Jethro. Don't worry." Then, he sighed. "Sorry, Abbs. I'm uptight, I guess."

"You guess?" Abby repeated. "You've _always_ been uptight. ...but that's why I like you." She grinned.

Tim finally relaxed. "Sorry," he said again. "I've probably ruined your evening, haven't I."

"No! No, not at all! In fact, now that you're done being tense, it'll be even better!"

Tim laughed. "Okay. I think I'm ready to order now."

"Excellent. What's your pleasure?"

Tim took a deep breath and opened the menu once more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You want _what_?" Vance asked.

"A list of all the recent LEOs who have been killed...the ones who were part of the Observer program."

Vance laughed in disbelief. "You can't be serious, Gibbs. No one gets to know exactly who is part of the Observer program. I know that you are and that I am. I also know who is in NCIS, but I don't know beyond the very firmly-defined boundaries of my agency. The people who run the Observer program, whoever they are, have embraced a policy of division. There is no central system through which everything is run. Every Observer functions independently."

"Really?"

"Yes. So _your_ Observer and _my_ Observer do not interact unless, by some quirk of fate, we both were needing their help in the same area at the same time."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. I'm not privy to the details. No one is who is in law enforcement."

"Well, then, who started the whole thing?"

"The President, working on the premise that if he needed Secret Service, regular LEOs might need protection as well in the current climate."

"I have a hunch, Leon."

"You usually do."

"Is there _any_ way you could put in a request just to give me the numbers, particularly in the last...two months?"

"I can try, Gibbs, but I can't make any promises. The reason the program has been as successful as it has is because of the high level of secrecy the Observers operate under. They're not going to be open to..."

"I think maybe the Observers are the targets," Gibbs said.

"Where did you get _that _idea?"

"My gut. You think they'll be more open?"

"You have any _evidence_?"

"Not without those numbers. They don't have to give me people's names. I don't care about the names. I just need to see the numbers."

"I'll ask, but don't hold your breath. If they _do_ decide it's a genuine threat, they're not likely to tell me...or you."

"Even with..."

"Even if there were killers holding the top Observer...whoevers with guns to their heads. They operate entirely internally. I don't even know who has oversight over them. Maybe no one, but probably the NSA if anyone does."

"But you'll ask?"

"Yes, I'll ask. Be prepared to be disappointed."

Gibbs nodded but as he left, he felt anything but worried. He had an in that most people didn't. Even Vance had an Observer.

...but Vance didn't have Timothy McGee.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Addendum 1: The Procedure for Being Assigned as an Observer_

_Introduction: This section was added to version 2.6 when it became clear that it was necessary for Observers to be able to answer any and all questions about their assignments if asked in order to avoid a loss of confidence. We here lay out the steps taken in assigning an Observer._

_1. Ascertaining need – It becomes necessary for a LEO to have the protection of an Observer. NOTE: This step is NOT undertaken by the LEO in question. It is always done at the behest of his superiors and then agreed upon by the Observer system. This means that the LEOs are occasionally resentful of being assigned protectors, meaning that it is more important than ever for Observers to maintain their complete objectivity._

_2. Informing the LEO of need – This step is completely separate from the Observer assignment. The LEO is called in by his supervisor and is informed that he will be fitted with the Observer com and that he will have the chance to choose his Observer. Again, there is no choice given to the LEO regarding this step. He will either accept the Observer or he will be removed from duty._

_3. Surgical implantation – The LEO makes an appointment with one of the Observer-approved medical facilities to receive the semi-permanent implantation of the Observer com._

_4. Choice of Observer – Through a careful examination of psych profiles and official LEO files, the Observer supervisors make a list of likely compatible Observers from which the LEO may choose his protector. If none suit, another set will be chosen. Each Observer will make himself available for a verbal conversation through the Observer com. NOTE: The Observer may not refuse an assignment unless he can make a clear case for avoiding his duties. Remember that, except in special cases, all pairings will be male-male or female-female._

_5. Trial period – There will be a settling period of no more than three months during which the Observer and the LEO will determine if the pairing will function efficiently. The Observer may not reject the pairing unless he has clear evidence that the pairing will not work._

_6. Observation – Upon successful completion of the settling period, the Observer will be assigned to the LEO without any scheduled interruption. The LEO may call on the Observer at any time, day or night and the Observer will make his services available. In cases when the Observer has more than one LEO in his care, he will make one his primary LEO and the others secondary. In case of a conflict, he will have backup Observers upon whom he may call._

_For rules regarding the observation, please return to Part III._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Eight years ago..._

Gibbs couldn't help it. He was shocked and he showed it.

"You're doing...what?" he asked.

"I'm adding you to the new Observer program," Morrow said.

"I don't think so," Gibbs said, looking at the two strangers in the room. "I'm not interested. Thanks though." He stood to leave.

"This wasn't a request, Agent Gibbs," one man said, firmly. "This is an order. You comply or you're no longer part of NCIS."

Gibbs was half-tempted to leave, and perhaps Morrow could see it. He stood up and looked at the other two men.

"Could we have a moment, please, gentlemen?"

They nodded and left the office.

"What is this crap, Tom?" Gibbs demanded as soon as the door closed.

"This _crap_ is trying to save your life, Jethro."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about that near miss you had. I'm talking about Chris Pacci being killed. I'm talking about the fact that we are at war."

"That's..."

But Morrow wasn't done. "We are, and it's about time you acknowledged it. No, this war isn't between two nations. It's not even organized on a national scale, but it's a war. Every major city in this country has seen a spike in violent crime over the last five years. Every major city in this country has seen murders and assaults of law enforcement officials go up by at least 300 percent. In DC, it's more like 500. This is a war. The war is between the criminals and the police...and we're losing, Jethro. Just look in any newspaper and you'll see how badly we're losing. Iraqi police don't have as much to worry about as officers in the good old U.S.A. do. The Observer program has been set up to make it easier to protect the law enforcement officers who go out every day. Up to now, it's only been the heads of agencies and precincts, but they're expanding and every federal agency has been asked to submit lists of those who should be protected."

"I don't need protection from some voice in my ear, Tom. How is that going to help?"

"That voice has already saved my neck at least twice."

Gibbs was suddenly quiet.

"When?"

"It hasn't made the news. That's the point. What we're trying to do is fight back both in the media and on the streets. We need the journalists rooting for us again. We need people to have confidence in the judicial system again. I don't know how we lost so much ground so fast, but we have and now we have to scramble to get it back."

"And you really think forcing me into this is going to help?"

"You think you're not in danger?"

"No more than Kate or Tony."

"Someone gets targeted...and it's not the rank and file."

Gibbs sighed.

"Gibbs, I'm serious about this. You and Lovitz both here. If they ever expand the program to include the rank and file, I'll put all my MCRTs on it."

"So I have to have some thing stuck in my head?"

"It's called the Observer com. It's a microphone just like you put on whenever you go out. Only this one is implanted." He turned his head slightly so that Gibbs could see that small device. "It's easy to use. Even a dinosaur like you can handle it," Morrow said with a smile.

"Permanent?"

"You're entitled to permanent protection until you die, but if you want to have it removed when you retire, feel free. It's easily removed. I don't want to lose you, Gibbs."

Gibbs sighed again and then nodded. "Fine. When does this rigamarole start?"

"Now." Morrow went to the door and let the Observers back into his office.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So, Boss, how is it having that thing in your head?" Tony asked.

Gibbs gave Tony a death glare and then looked back at the list of Observers. All he got was a name, a list of their degrees, and their record as an Observer. None of them did anything for him.

Kate and Tony came and looked over his shoulder.

"Well, I wouldn't take this one," Kate said, pointing at one on the list.

"Why not?" Tony asked. "A good record. His training is good."

"That's my point. He's good, but haven't you ever heard of opposites attract?"

"He's picking someone to talk to him, not his next ex-wife, Kate."

"Someone who is supposed to keep him from being in danger." She looked at the list again. "Actually, I wouldn't pick anyone on this list. You should ask for another selection."

"This is already my third list."

Tony laughed. "Big surprise."

"Well, if they're serious about this, Gibbs, they'll give you another list."

"Right." Gibbs wished they wouldn't.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat looking at the computers. He was fully trained now. He'd had a few short-term assignments and he now had three long-term charges, but they were all retirees who were deciding whether or not they still wanted the be a part of the program.

Mostly, what he was doing was boring.

"Watching. This is not what I want," he muttered. Over the last few weeks, he'd seriously begun considering quitting and figuring something else out.

A beep warned him of official contact from the Observer program.

"Yes? This is Observer Timothy McGee."

"_Good. This is Observer Milton. You are being put on a list of recommended Observers for NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."_

In spite of his disillusionment, Tim was intrigued.

"Why me? You had given me to understand that I wasn't the right kind of Observer for someone like that."

"_You're not. But Agent Gibbs has rejected three sets of suggested Observers. You're at the other end of the spectrum. We're getting desperate."_

Tim laughed. "Better that than nothing, I guess. Sure, okay. I mean, thank you for letting me know. I'll make sure I'm available."

There was a pause and then Milton continued. _"We're sending a line of code to include. It's the tone for Agent Gibbs' com. You can listen to a test of it and then be ready if he decides to contact you."_

"Thank you, Observer Milton. I appreciate the chance."

"_You've not been shunted aside because you lack the skills. You're just not typical Observer material and we're not sure where you'll do most good."_

"Thank you."

"_Good luck, Observer McGee."_

There was the telltale click. Tim grinned. He could only hope that this Gibbs would contact him. With something to anticipate, he was excited enough to answer the requests for his assistance for people who likely didn't _need_ protection anymore.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Another day. Another list. Gibbs could tell they were getting annoyed with how long it was taking. They probably thought he was genuinely trying to be difficult...but for once it wasn't true. If he was going to do this, he was going to make sure it was done right. That meant picking the right person...but it was so difficult to pick the right person when he got so little information. He had asked for more and been told that wasn't how it worked.

"Timothy McGee," he muttered to himself. That was a rather normal name. Then, he looked at the listed degrees...and there were more than he expected to see. A bachelor's degree in computer science from MIT? Another in bio-medical engineering from Johns Hopkins? A master's degree in computer forensics from MIT? Who was this person that he'd give up the potential for success to be an Observer?

His gut told him this was the right choice. He stood up and walked to Morrow's office, requested to speak to the Observers and waited for them to arrive. As soon as they walked in, he looked at them and thrust the list out.

"This one. Timothy McGee. He's who I want."

He could have sworn he had surprised the unflappable Observers...although they covered it well.

"There will be a probationary period..."

"Won't be necessary," Gibbs interrupted. "He's the one I want."

"It's required, Agent Gibbs, but it's nice to see you so confident about it. If you'll come with me, I'll show you how to contact him. It will be slightly longer this first time, but after that, you will be linked in to Observer McGee's com and contacting him will be a simple affair."

They walked out of Morrow's office and down to the bullpen.

"Hey, Boss! Who did you pick?"

"McGee..." Gibbs began and then was cut off.

"It is not appropriate to spread the name around. That is how security is broken," the Observer said sternly. "Do _not_ risk the entire program by making those involved known."

Gibbs rolled his eyes but then walked with the Observer to learn how to contact the new voice in his head.

"I will be outside. If you have trouble, you may come out and get me." Then, he walked out.

Gibbs took a deep breath and reached back behind his ear and touched the small button. There was a very soft click.

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is your Observer, Timothy McGee. How may I help you? My monitor shows that you are inside NCIS Headquarters on the Navy Yard."_

Gibbs gritted his teeth at the robotic greeting. If this was some kind of computer, he'd be extremely miffed.

"I'm contacting you as I'm required to do. Don't expect to hear from me much," he growled.

There was a brief pause and then, the voice changed to one only marginally softer than his own.

"_Actually, Agent Gibbs, you're mistaken. Anytime you're stupid enough to leave NCIS Headquarters on your own, you will not be able to even drive your car if you don't contact me first. Based on your track record, I find it highly unlikely that you'll suddenly stop throwing caution to the winds. Get used to me being around. I'm not going away unless you decide that I'm an unsuitable Observer."_

The sudden shift from the formal (and admittedly polite) greeting he'd received and the reprimand he'd just been dealt was almost a shock. He couldn't even think of a response for the moment...something about as rare as being taken by surprise.

"_Now that we have that out of the way,"_ Tim said, back to his polite tone, _"would you like to get a feel for my capabilities and how I can be of help to you or would you like to wait until another time? I have free time at the moment, but I am available to you 24/7 and..."_

"Wait," Gibbs said, interrupting. "You're available 24/7? No one can keep up that kind of schedule."

There was a laugh. _"If you're thinking I'm a computer, Agent Gibbs, you're mistaken. I'm just as human as you are, and I'm assuming that even you will need to sleep occasionally. That means that I can as well. However, I am linked in to the Observer system at all times and all you have to do is send me a blip and I'll be there."_

"So...I'm in charge?"

"_Yes. I will not contact you...unless you attempt to engage in the aforementioned disallowed behaviors."_

"What is this? Some sort of conditioning?" Gibbs asked suspiciously.

"_No. The understanding is that you, being a part of the Observer program, have simply forgotten to contact me when leaving Headquarters alone."_

"What about when I'm headed home?"

"_This is only for when you are on duty."_

"And how will you know the difference?"

"_By which car you use. It is expected that, should you unexpectedly need to go on your own in your vehicle on official business, you will contact me, your Observer. Otherwise, I will not know."_

"How can I be sure of that?"

"_Try it and see,"_ Tim responded. Except for the reprimand, he had not changed his voice from the calm tone he was using now. Gibbs couldn't decide if he was impressed or annoyed by that.

"Oh, I will."

"_My job is not to spy on you, Agent Gibbs. My job is to protect you...so that you can protect people like me and stop this country from disintegrating at the hands of people who don't care about human life, don't care about the ideals on which this country was founded. That is the job of every Observer who watches over a law enforcement officer."_

Gibbs could tell that this was scripted...but also that it was something that Tim seemed to believe.

"All right, then...do I have to call you Observer McGee?"

"_You may call me whatever makes you most comfortable."_

"You'll respond to McGee?"

"_Yes. I will respond to the use of my surname."_

"Good. That's all then."

"_You have no further questions?"_

"Oh, I have questions, but none that I need to ask you right now."

"_If there is nothing further, I will wish you safety. Signing off."_

There was another soft click.

"McGee?" he asked.

No response.

"McGee?" he tried again.

Nothing.

He touched the button.

"_This is your Observer. Yes, Agent Gibbs? Was there something else?"_

"No. Just checking."

"_You have no questions to ask at this moment?"_

"No."

"_Signing off."_

Again, that soft click.

"McGee?"

Nothing.

"Okay. I guess you're really not there."

Gibbs sighed. He didn't like this, but since he had it, at least there was a human being on the other end of it...and he did seem to have privacy. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim smiled as he pulled off his headset. He had someone who would likely not be a boring charge. Gibbs seemed interesting...and he didn't like the program which meant he found it demeaning to be forced to rely on someone else for protection. That meant he'd only call when he really found it necessary. ...and he was part of the MCRT at NCIS Headquarters!

"If I can't have what I want, I guess this is the next best thing," Tim said to his empty apartment. For the first time in months, he smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Rule #3_

_The Observer is ALWAYS available._

_There is no time that is the Observer's alone, except in times of illness or injury on the part of the Observer. In such cases, he will have to contact his charge(s) and tell him (them) that there is a substitute in place. In cases of serious injury or illness when contact is not possible, a member of the Observer council will contact the Observer's charge(s) and inform him (them) of such problems._

_Any Observer caught violating this rule will be disciplined. If out-of-contact behavior continues, he will be fired._

_Rule #43_

_The Observer may only contact his charge in specific instances:_

_A. If the charge is attempting to leave the safety of his home base alone and has not contacted the Observer himself._

_B. If a danger is communicated to the Observer by another Observer that may affect his charge._

_C. If there is a disruption in the com system requiring testing to verify repairs have been successful._

_Any Observer caught violating this rule will be disciplined. If inappropriate contact continues, he will be fired._

_Rule #50_

_The Observer will not share personal information with his charge(s)._

_There is no reason to answer personal questions about the Observer's life. If the charge persists, the Observer will answer with the following statement: "It is irrelevant to the successful work of an Observer to engage in personal commentary." If all else fails, the Observer is authorized __in this instance only __to end the conversation._

_Any Observer caught violating this rule will be disciplined. If personal comments continue, he will be fired._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Present..._

"I've heard back from the Observers, Gibbs," Leon said.

"And?"

"They thank you for your concern but they refuse to give you the information you requested."

"Were they at all worried that you could tell?"

Leon smiled. "You know these people. Vulcans could hardly be more stoic than they are."

"No sign at all?"

"Not that I could see, but they'd be foolish if they didn't at least look into it. I'm sure they will."

"Not even the numbers?"

"I specifically asked them just for the statistics and they said no. Well, they gave me some canned response, but the essence of it was no."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Do they have that little confidence in law enforcement?"

"I think it's more a professional lack of trust of anyone outside their organization. If they don't trust anyone but themselves, they don't have to worry about outside threats to the same degree as the rest of us."

"Who are these people, Leon?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean _who_ are they? What's the structure of the Observer program? Who runs this thing?"

"I don't know, Gibbs. I really have no idea. They're more secretive than the CIA ever was. They have reasons for it, but..."

"That's the end of it?"

"That's the end of it as far as we're concerned."

"Fine."

"I mean it, Gibbs. Don't interfere with whatever they've decided."

"I said, fine, Leon."

Vance smiled. "I know. That's why I'm worried."

Gibbs grinned...and didn't reply. He walked out of Vance's office and to the elevator. Then, he sent it down and stopped it between floors. Normally, this was his office, for private dressing downs...but this time, he was going to use it to conference with someone who wasn't there.

He touched the button behind his ear.

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is your Observer. How may I help you? My monitor places you safely within NCIS Headquarters."_

"McGee, what do you know about the Observer program?"

"_In what respect?"_

"Its structure."

"_I have the handbook memorized, Agent Gibbs."_

"Good. Tell me, then."

It was one of the few times Gibbs succeeded in rattling the normally calm voice in his ear.

"_I...can't do that, Agent Gibbs."_

"Why not?"

"_It is not relevant to the protection of the LEO to reveal information about the Observer program."_

"What about relevance to the protection of the _Observers_?" Gibbs shot back.

"_Meaning?"_

"Meaning I think that there's an effort to take down the Observer system."

"_Impossible. It wouldn't work. Is that all?"_

"No, that's not all!" Gibbs said, frustrated by the stoicism, the lack of concern...and the rather arrogant assumption of safety he could hear. "You're really insufferable sometimes. Don't you guys get that you're only human and that you bleed just like the rest of us do?"

The laughter surprised him.

"What's so funny?"

"_Agent Gibbs...you have no conception of what we're taught as Observers."_

"Then, tell me."

"_I can't do that, Agent Gibbs. Is there anything else?"_

"Wait! You're supposed to help me when I'm on my own."

"_You are not on your own, Agent Gibbs. You're in NCIS Headquarters."_

"So I'll leave."

"_If you have more to ask me, that is not necessary."_

"Okay," Gibbs said with a smile. "Let me see if I can put this in the right way."

"_If you're trying to get around the rules, Agent Gibbs, I doubt it. You may have no respect for them, but I do."_

"Understood. That man we arrested is the killer, but I think there's more to it than just cop killing."

"_Just?"_

"Listen!" Gibbs snapped. "I just want to know how many of the cops killed or who were attacked in the last two months were part of the Observer program."

"_You can ask for that information through my superiors."_

"I have. They said no."

"_Then, that has to be my answer as well."_

"You're not helping the LEO under your protection."

"_My...My job is not to aid in your investigation, Agent Gibbs. It's..."_ The pauses were strange, as if Gibbs had hit a sore point he didn't even know existed. _"It's to protect you. _Your_ job is to investigate. Mine is to watch."_

"And you don't like that, do you," Gibbs said with a sudden realization. "You _hate _that you only get to watch and not investigate. You want to be a part of all this. Well, here's your chance."

There was a soft click and Gibbs smiled. That was as good as confirming his guess. He touched the button once again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim heard the tone and knew that Gibbs wasn't letting it go. He had buried his face in Jethro's fur right after disconnecting, trying to calm himself down. How had Gibbs found out? Tim could have sworn that he'd kept himself using the same even tone he always used.

"Okay, Jethro. Out." He let the dog go and pointed to the other room.

Jethro obediently trotted away and Tim linked in.

"Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is your Observer. Do you have any further questions?"

Gibbs soft chuckle didn't make him feel any better.

"_I'm impressed, McGee."_

"Do you have any further questions?" Tim repeated, trying to keep himself from responding. He could tell Gibbs was intentionally goading him. He'd never done it before and it was...almost disheartening that he was choosing to do so now, just to get Tim to break the rules governing the job he cared about. Gibbs was on the hunt and he didn't care about anyone or anything else.

"_Yes, I do. Why can't you just tell me the numbers, McGee? And don't give me that crap about it being irrelevant. It's relevant to my investigation and that means relevant to protecting more officers if they're being targeted just to get to the Observers."_

Tim stared at the small red dot indicating Gibbs' location.

"_McGee?"_

"Rule #10. The Observer does not have the authority to give information to anyone regarding the Observer system. If he is discovered to have revealed information, he will be disciplined. If he continues the loose-lipped behavior, he will be fired."

"_What?"_

"Rule #15. The Observer does not circumvent decisions made by his superiors. He will abide by those decisions in every case. If he is discovered to have circumvented a decision, he will be disciplined. If he continues to do so, he will be fired."

"_McGee..."_

But Tim wasn't done. He sighed and continued to speak, softly. "Rule #2. The employment of the Observer in no case supersedes that of his charge. The Observer has no right to attempt to keep his job at the expense of the safety of the LEO under his protection. If he is discovered to be attempting such superseding, he will be disciplined. If he continues to do so, he will be fired."

There was a long silence.

"What are the statistics you need, Agent Gibbs?"

Another pause.

"_Nevermind."_

"No. You said you needed the statistics in order to determine if the attacks on police officers are being undertaken to get at the Observers."

"_Nevermind, McGee. I don't need it. That's all."_

There was a soft click, signaling the end of the conversation.

Tim listened to the empty air and then he laughed a little to himself.

"Come on, Gibbs. I didn't even get to rule number one."

He looked at his computers. He had, not once, gone beyond what he had been allowed in the context of his job as an Observer. Ever. He had always followed the rules and done what he was told. ...and for the first time, what he'd been told to do was in conflict.

"I'm supposed to render assistance to my charge as requested. My charge has requested information. Information that I am forbidden to give. Which trumps the other?"

Then, Tim thought of rules one through four. Those four rules seemed to present the most important tenets of being an Observer. Everything else came after that.

Tim took a deep breath.

"Jethro?"

The clatter of paws informed him of Jethro's approach.

"Hey, boy. I need some support right now." Tim laughed at himself for that. "Silly, I know. ...but I don't break the rules, Jethro. ...and I'm about to...so that I can obey other rules."

Tim swallowed hard and then began to type.

"The number of assaults on cops in the last two months whether they're deaths or not. It won't take very long to find...but...I'm not supposed to do this. I don't have a get-out-of-jail-free card if I get caught."

...but he didn't really think he'd get caught. He'd never been caught when he'd looked at some of the files at NCIS, nothing sensitive. He had just been curious about what the rest of Gibbs' team was like. It had proved advantageous when he'd met Abby.

This was something altogether different and Tim was afraid.

...but he couldn't help but think of his other charge who had died not three weeks ago...one of the victims of this latest killer. If Gibbs was right, then part of the reason he had been killed was because of Tim as his Observer. It didn't matter that it more than likely wasn't Tim himself but rather his status as an Observer that was the problem. That didn't matter. What mattered was that he had been murdered.

Decision made, he began to type and a furious pace.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Jethro, you seem...unsettled," Ducky said as he closed one of the drawers.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Just...Do you think I forget about the people who work for me?"

Ducky smiled. "Yes. When you have an idea, Jethro, you tend to forget everything else. That includes your common sense and often your coworkers. Why do you ask?"

Gibbs thought back to the sound of Tim's voice. Over the years, he'd rarely been able to get Tim to show emotion when interacting with him...but this time, there was a sadness and a sense of hurt that he'd never heard before. It had actually given him pause and made him back off. Those rules. He wondered how many there were. At least fifteen. How many more could there possibly be? As specific as the rules Tim had quoted were...he wouldn't be surprised if there were quite a few others.

"No reason."

"I doubt that. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, Duck. There's not."

There was a beep in his ear. Tim was contacting _him_? He couldn't recall the last time that had happened.

"A call from your Observer?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said with some surprise. "See ya later, Ducky."

"Anytime, Jethro."

Gibbs strode out of Autopsy and to the elevator. Again, he got on and sent it up, freezing it between floors.

"What is it, McGee?" he asked.

"_All of them, Agent Gibbs."_

"What?"

"_Every assault or murder on a law enforcement official on the East Coast in the last two months has been on one in the Observer program."_

"No exceptions?"

"_Two. Both former members of the program."_

"McGee..."

The interruption was smooth...and cold. Tim had never sounded less human than he did right now.

"_That is the information you requested, Agent Gibbs. Is there anything else you need from me?"_

"No. McGee?"

"_Yes, Agent Gibbs."_

"Thank you."

There was a long pause.

"_I've put my..."_ There was a surge of emotion and then it was gone. _"There is no requirement for thanking your Observer. It is part of my duties to provide information vital to the safety of law enforcement officials."_

"McGee, thank you. I'm sorry I forced you into that."

Another pause.

"_Will it help?"_

"Yes. I think it will."

"_Then...you're welcome, Agent Gibbs. Is there anything else you need?"_

"No. That will be all, McGee."

There was a click and Gibbs was instantly trying to think of how he could incorporate this new information into his investigation without tipping his hand...without getting Tim in trouble for providing information Gibbs had been told he couldn't have. As he thought about it, he was also surprised at how quickly Tim had got the information. Either it was more easily-accessible than he thought or Tim was a lot more skilled than he'd ever realized...or rather than he'd ever given him credit for.

Those rules. He couldn't ask Tim for more information. Maybe Abby could do it. With that, he headed for her lab.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What have I done, Jethro?" Tim whispered. "If they find out...I don't want to get fired. What would I do instead of this? What _can_ I do? When I have my annual report...what do I say about this? Could I possibly lie about it? I don't think I could. If they asked...what would I do?"

He pulled off the headset and tottered into the kitchen to make dinner. He was upset, worried and afraid. The only bright spot was that Gibbs seemed to have clued in to what he'd asked, to the gravity of the situation as far as Tim was concerned. Would that be enough? Tim didn't know.

"Okay. Focus. Focus on dinner. That's all you need to worry about. Just dinner."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Abby, you got a minute?"

"For you? Always, el Jefe," Abby said with a grin. "What's up?"

"Can you find a copy of the Observer Handbook?"

Abby blinked in surprise...and then smiled. "Having trouble with the voice in your head, Gibbs?"

"No. Can you find one?"

"Legally?"

"Sure."

"No. Not a chance. I can't think of any feasible way to get ahold of something like that legally."

"Illegally?"

"Maybe. I can try looking, but you know what they're like. You know that more than most people do. Can't you just ask your little voice?"

"He's apparently not allowed to talk about it."

"Huh. Those guys are really weird, Gibbs. I can give it a shot, but this is one place where I can't guarantee results."

Gibbs smiled and kissed her cheek. "Do your best."

"I always do...for you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We're _this_ close to isolating that signal. We need to take the next step."

"I don't know if we're ready for that. Killing them is one thing. Taking one hostage is asking for more trouble than it might be worth."

"If we succeed then it'll be worth more than any trouble could negate. The sky's the limit."

"There's something to be said for that. We've been careful, consolidating our position. Perhaps it's time to take a big risk."

"Okay. Who's next on the list? We've done the big agencies."

"NCIS."

"Who has one in this area?"

"Not many, but a few."

"Okay. Look through the list. Pick one. Not the highest official. That _is_ asking for more trouble. You pick one and then we'll start to plan how to get it done."

"On it."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Three days later..._

Abby was stumped...and she didn't like being stumped. She knew she was a better-than-average hacker, but she could _not_ find any black-market copies of the Observer Handbook. She couldn't even track down any indication of people _discussing_ the Observer Handbook in forums. Not in a single forum. She couldn't believe that any organization could be so successful at keeping secret information secret. There had to be something she was missing.

She decided to pull out her own secret weapon.

_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim!  
><em>_Abbsolute: Tim! _

_McGeek: What is it, Abbs? :rolleyes:_

_Abbsolute: Timmy, my friend. My pal. My best buddy._

_McGeek: Spit it out, Abby. What do you want?_

Abby laughed.

_Abbsolute: I need your help, Tim. I've been set a task and I just can't do it!_

_McGeek: What is it?_

_Abbsolute: I don't think I should talk about it online. Can I talk with you?_

_McGeek: Sure, but it's been kind of busy for me the last couple of days. I might have to leave at a moment's notice._

_Abbsolute: That's fine. It won't be until later because I'm at work right now. Can I meet you somewhere for lunch? Somewhere...quiet?_

_McGeek: What did you have in mind?_

_Abbsolute: Not that! ...maybe later. But right now, I just need to be able to talk to you._

_McGeek: Okay. Where?_

_Abbsolute: Somewhere close to you or close to me?_

_McGeek: Close to me would be easier for me, but will you have time to get up here and back on your lunch break?_

_Abbsolute: I'll just stay a bit later today if I'm late getting back. I'll pick you up and you can suggest a place._

_McGeek: Okay. Talk to you soon._

_Abbsolute: You're the best, Tim!_

_McGeek: Flattery will get you nowhere._

"Abby, what are you doing?"

Abby closed the chat box and turned around innocently. "Nothing, Tony. What do you need?"

Tony looked at her suspiciously.

"Nothing? You're never doing nothing, Abby. What's going on?"

All the rules about not sharing information with people outside NCIS flitted through Abby's head...and while she was sure that Tony wouldn't mind, she remembered the rule about keeping secrets. Don't tell anyone.

"Well, I could explain it to you, Tony, but it's all computer stuff. I don't think you'd get it."

"Ah, I see. You're feeling cliquey today," Tony said with a smile. "Well, do you have the latest facts and figures for our poor suspected serial killer?"

"Oh, yeah...you ready for them?" Abby asked.

"Lay 'em on me."

Abby pushed a few buttons and then began to explain, at the same time wishing that Tim was officially a part of NCIS. His skills were so useful...if only he was allowed to help out openly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim waited out on the sidewalk, wondering what it could be that Abby needed him for. It was their little secret that Abby sometimes called on him to do work for NCIS. It was all kept hush-hush because NCIS, like so many other agencies, had closed a lot of its doors in response to the crime war. Outside work had to be cleared through massive background checks, and with Tim, he had to pretend that he had a classified job (which he did) that wouldn't allow him an outside career for fear of getting caught out.

His friendship with Abby had begun on a lark as an outgrowth of one of Tim's MMORPGs. They had started chatting and then become more interested in each other. Tim had, if he were honest, not very high hopes for Abby in the beginning. She had seemed to be too flighty to be interested in someone who could barely walk...but he'd been pleasantly surprised when they had finally met in person. They'd even gone out for a while...after he had convinced himself that dating someone who worked with one of his charges wasn't violating any rules. Then, after a while, it had been fun to have a friend at NCIS. He pumped her for information about how things went...and encouraged her to come to him when she had problems either because of time or just because Tim was better at the computer stuff than she was.

When he saw her car come up the street, Tim got himself ready to get in and waved at her as she slowed down.

"Where's Jethro?" Abby asked as Tim maneuvered himself awkwardly into the passenger seat.

"I left him home this time. There's a place we can go, but they don't allow animals."

"Oooh...where?"

Tim smiled and gave her directions to the small café. It catered to a specific kind of clientele, i.e. people like Tim who needed privacy...and perhaps an internet connection.

"You've never taken me here before," Abby said in surprise as she pulled into a parking space.

"No, I haven't. It's not really a chatting sort of place. More for...working lunches."

"Tim...what kind of a place is this?" Abby asked with a grin.

"It's nothing illegal, Abby, if that's what you're insinuating. It's a safe place for...for people to come when they need to talk and work and eat at the same time."

"Okay, okay. Are you walking in or wheeling?"

"Wheeling. They know me here. They'll have a space available."

Tim got into his wheelchair and then rolled himself into the café. He waved at the man behind the counter who gestured to a table off to the side. Only one chair was there. Tim smiled his thanks and he and Abby got settled. Another man came over.

"Hey, Tim. What'll it be today?"

"The usual, Jack. Abby?"

Abby looked at the menu. "What's the usual, Tim?"

Tim grinned. "Just a club sandwich. Nothing exciting."

"That works for me. I don't suppose you have Caf-Pow!s here?"

"Sorry, no," Jack said. "We have other energy drinks."

Abby shook her head. "No, that's okay. I'll just get whatever you're getting Tim."

"Okay. Two of the usual."

"The usual?" Abby asked.

"I told you. They know me here. So...what is it that you want to ask me about?"

"Let's wait until they bring the food out."

"Okay. So...you still bowling with the nuns?"

"Not as much anymore," Abby said with a sigh. "Everyone is getting so...paranoid that they're making people verify a lot of their outside activities."

"And nuns need verification?"

Abby laughed. "No. It's just that everyone is so afraid right now. ...and this year, crime has actually _dropped_. But I think everyone is afraid it'll start going up again and so they don't want to go out and risk being the target." She sighed. "Oh, Tim. I wish that you could just come and work with us at NCIS without me having to sneak around."

"You know that not possible, Abby. My job doesn't allow any outside employment. You think people are paranoid? These guys take the cake."

"Yeah, I know. It's just that you can do so much that NCIS needs extra hands in. I can't do everything and my area of expertise is really in forensics, not computers."

"In another world, Abby. Another world."

The food was brought out, and they ate in silence for a few seconds before Tim raised his eyebrows in question.

"Okay, so I need your help with getting my hands on something."

"What, Abby?" Tim asked. "It can't be simple or you wouldn't be worried like this."

"I need to get a hold of an Observer Handbook."

Tim had been taking a drink and instantly started choking when Abby said what she was looking for. He began to cough. Chuckling, Abby rescued his glass and then pounded him on the back.

"I knew it would surprise you, Tim, but I didn't think it'd be _that_ shocking."

Tim took a few experimental deep breaths as he tried to think of what to say that would cover his surprise.

"Abby, you're crazy!"

"Oh, it's not that I'm doing this for myself," Abby said quickly. "I've told you about Gibbs, one of the agents. He gets an idea in his head and he won't let it go. He thinks this is important."

"Then, why is he asking you to get it? Couldn't he just ask for one?"

"I guess it's one of those things that's too secret to be known. I'm telling you, Tim, these guys must be really weird. Everything is so secret. I don't even know the name of the guy in Gibbs' head. I mean, he's never around when I am...he's only supposed to be there when Gibbs is off by himself somewhere, but still...it's just weird. Gibbs told me that when he accidentally told Tony and Kate, the Observer guy who was at NCIS said that the only way he could keep the guy he'd picked was if he didn't tell anyone else. ...and you know me. I'm not so good at keeping secrets...but how dangerous could it be to know someone's _name_?"

Tim shrugged. "They must have a reason for all that secrecy. There _are_ genuinely classified jobs out there you know." He smiled.

Abby grinned in reply. "I know. I wasn't poking fun at _you_, Tim...although I think it's silly that you can't get any other jobs just because you're employed by this nameless agency that we _won't_ call the NSA."

Tim laughed. It was a running joke between them that Tim worked for the NSA and that's why he couldn't tell her because it was only recently that the NSA's existence was admitted at all. He had never confirmed or denied her assumption, although he knew that she was sure she was right.

"But stop distracting me, Tim. Can you help me out? I don't like to disappoint Gibbs, but I'm hitting nothing but roadblocks here! I've tried everything. I even looked on the hidden corners of Ebay!"

"Ebay? You're kidding, right?"

"There are some people who will sell anything...but I have to say that I'm impressed with how well the Observers have done at keeping their stuff secret. It's not _anywhere_. Can't you work your magic?"

Tim had never outright lied to Abby. He'd avoided the truth and said he couldn't say...but he'd never told her a lie before...and now he had to. He just had to. He couldn't even intimate that he knew where to get a handbook.

"I don't know, Abbs. That's...that's way beyond my pay grade. I can _try_, but I really don't think I'll get any further than you have. This isn't about me being better or worse. It's about...what _you_ just said. This stuff isn't _anywhere_. What does Gibbs want with it anyway?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He just said that he wanted to read it. I asked him if he was having trouble with his Observer."

Tim felt his heart plummet for just a moment at the thought that he really _had_ done something wrong there.

"And?" he asked, blessing his training that had taught him how to sound calm and collected all the time.

"And he said no...but that's _all_ he said. Nothing else. So I don't know what's up with him and this handbook. Maybe it has something to do with this latest case, but I don't know why it would. He's been playing things pretty close to the chest lately. Again, I don't know why. ...but Gibbs isn't exactly talkative even when he _is_ talking to people. So that doesn't necessarily mean a whole lot, and..."

Tim smiled as Abby continued to rattle off things about Gibbs that would probably make him a little annoyed that his Observer knew, but it was nice to hear about Gibbs as a regular person sometimes.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got the strangest look on your face. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just envious is all. You have a wonderful job, Abby," Tim said and he couldn't quite keep the wistfulness out of his voice.

"Tim, if you don't like what you're doing, you could always apply at NCIS! We'd love to have you!"

Tim shook his head even as a part of him was ready to do it.

"No, I can't. What I do is important, Abby, and I can't just walk away from it. I'll just have to continue living vicariously through you."

"Well, you're welcome to. So...will you try?"

Ah, back to the thing he didn't want to think about.

"Yes, I'll try, but I don't want you expecting miracles from me. Not this time. What little I know about the Observers tells me that they're highly unlikely to let anything out. Maybe if the crime rate calms down, maybe if we start winning the war, but with the statistics so high, I just don't think I'll have any luck. ...but I will try."

"Thanks, Tim! I knew you wouldn't let me down." Abby reached across the table and hugged him tightly and Tim briefly felt his heart twist a little because he knew he _would_ be letting her down, and he knew it far in advance of when he'd tell her so. Then, before he could think of anything to say, Abby looked at her watch. "Oh, no! I've got to go! Thanks for lunch, Tim, but I should start heading back to work."

"Okay." Tim waved at Jack and he came over. Tim handed him a few bills, got a box for Abby's leftover sandwich and they headed out of the restaurant in under two minutes.

Abby dropped him off back at his apartment and then he watched her drive away...and he felt terrible.

...but he didn't get time to dwell on it. He heard a tone indicating that one of his charges was leaving. He touched the button and started rolling back to his apartment.

"Hello, sir. This is your Observer. How may I help you today?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Observer Handbook, version 2.6_

_Appendix 2_

_Getting used to lying_

_As an Observer, absolute secrecy is essential to the success of our program. You are authorized to tell your immediate family of your position, but no one else. No friend, no matter how close, may know your occupation. You are expected to create a convincing story that you can automatically tell to anyone who asks what you do be they close friends or other acquaintances. _

_You must get used to lying. You must be good at it and you must not draw any suspicion onto yourself. We have prepared a list of viable lies that you may tell regarding your occupation. They have been tested for general believability and ease of explanation. Of course, if you can think of your own, that will be best because it will be fully tailored to your own background, but this list may help get you started._

_Possible fake occupations (documents can be supplied if necessary)_

_Telemarketer  
><em>_Unemployed  
><em>_Accountant  
><em>_Auditor  
><em>_Classified work of various sorts_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Trenton would be a good choice."

"He's inept. We should have got rid of him a long time ago."

"Here's the perfect opportunity. He likes killing. He'll do his part...and then be tragically killed in the crossfire. That should get our target out. Then, it'll just take one interception and we'll be set."

"It makes a lot of sense."

"All right. Set it up. We move in no more than a week."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Two days later..._

Tim inhaled deeply, hating what he was about to do but knowing that this was probably the only option the was left to him. Abby had asked for updates on what progress he was making and he knew that if he didn't turn up _something_, she'd keep asking until he did. That meant he had to show her something, even just a snippet of something...and he chose the most innocuous section he could think of supplying: the table of salaries and benefits for Observers of varying experience.

It would not help anyone with anything...but it would get Abby to accept that he had tried...even though he hadn't. The only time it had been harder to be an Observer than now...

Tim winced at the memory. Four years in the past and he still couldn't think of it without a pang. While he was thinking about it, though...

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he'd known for many years...but didn't dial very often at all.

"_McGee residence."_

"Hey, Mom. It's Tim."

"_Tim! Oh, it's been...a long time since you've called,"_ Naomi said anxiously. _"How are things going? Are you okay?"_

"Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. I was just...just wanting to talk to someone...someone I don't have to lie to. Do you mind if we just talk for a while?"

"_No! No, of course not. I wish you'd call more often. I think it's been at least a year since I spoke to you last. Tim...we miss you so much."_

"I know. I wish there some way...I just...I didn't realize..."

"_None of us could have known...but if you had, Tim, would you still have done it, still have taken the job?"_

"I don't know. What I do is important, Mom. It's making things better...keeping people safe."

"_I know...but not even the police give up as much as you have to do this job, Tim."_

"I know...but it's important...and there's so few important things that I can do."

"_Tim, you sell yourself much too short. There was a lot of important work you could have done instead of this. I'm not saying that your job isn't important, but it isn't the only important thing you could do."_

"So many people lose their lives every day, Mom. We know that better than most do. If it takes some sacrifice to push back against that kind of person...it's worth doing! So more people can avoid feeling what we've felt!"

"_I know, Tim. I know. Your father will be home soon. He'd want to talk to you, too. Can you stay on until he comes?"_

Tim felt the same sadness he always felt when he called his family, but he also knew that he had to give them a chance to talk with him...and he loved his parents. He wished that it was feasible to visit them...which it wasn't.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can...unless I get a call."

"_I know. That's how it is."_ Naomi paused for a few seconds. _"How's your friend Abby?"_

"She's fine. She asked me to help her find a...an Observer Handbook."

"_She what?"_

"Agent Gibbs asked her to find a copy and she couldn't; so she asked me."

"_What are you going to do?"_

"Lie."

That was the only answer necessary. They'd had the conversation too many times not to know what that one word encompassed.

"_I'm sorry, Tim. I know you don't like it when it becomes necessary."_

"No, I don't. If she ever finds out..."

"_Well, she shouldn't if the program works as it's supposed to."_

"I know, but who says it will forever?"

"_No one. It probably won't...but you'll just have to deal with that if and when it comes."_

Tim heard a sound in the background. A door closing.

"Is that Dad?"

"_How did you even hear that, Tim?"_

"Lots of practice, I guess."

"_I guess. Yes, it's your father."_ Naomi's voice softened as she covered the receiver. _"Sam! Tim's on the phone!"_

"_I don't believe it. I thought he'd forgotten how to use one!"_

It didn't take long before the faint voice clicked in on the extension.

"_Tim!"_

Tim smiled. "Hey, Dad."

"_It's so good to hear your voice again."_

"I've sent you guys messages...kept you updated."

"_I think Maya Angelou put it best: 'Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.' I can hear all sorts of things in your voice, Tim...things that your words cover up. What's wrong?"_

"I just have to lie again...and I don't want to."

"_Then, don't."_

"I have to, Dad. Just like last time."

"_And they always come first, don't they. Before everything...and everyone."_

"Yes."

There was a soft sigh. _"Tim...you know that I love you and that I support you in what you've chosen to do...but that doesn't mean I don't think you've made a mistake...one that you can still change."_

"For what, Dad? What can I do that's more important than what I'm doing now? I'm saving lives!"

"_And you can't do that any other way?"_

"No more than you can still run a mile," Tim shot back and then instantly felt horrible. "I'm sorry, Dad. That was wrong. I'm sorry."

Another silence.

"_I can't run a mile, Tim. Heck, I can't even take a single step...but I love what I'm doing with my life. Can you really say that about yours?"_

"What I'm doing is important."

"_That's not what I asked, Tim. I asked if you love what you're doing."_

"No, I don't," Tim said, not wanting to be honest, but hating the lie. "I don't love it...but I'm doing a good thing, and it gets me as close as I'll ever be to what I would love to do."

"_Tim, maybe you should think about trying to get into NCIS itself if that's still what you want."_

"No, Dad. I couldn't ever be a part of that. At least when I'm working here, I don't have anyone staring at me with that insulting mixture of pity and worry. I'm someone people can rely on and they don't think less of me because of what I look like...because they can't see it. I'm just a voice that they trust. Even Agent Gibbs trusts me now! It's something I've earned, not something given out of pity. I'm good at my job."

"_I would never even suggest that you're not, but Tim, you could be happy even with..."_

"I'm not you, Dad. You're happy with what you're doing, even if you're in a wheelchair. I'm not ever going to be that way. So I might well stick with what works."

"_You could go back to the doctors again. Maybe they'll–"_

"No! I'm not dealing with that again. Every time I go...I build up another false hope and it's _always_ false. It's never real. So what's the point? I can't keep doing that."

"_Okay, okay. It's been so long since you've called, Tim. I don't want to ruin it with another argument. Let's just talk."_

"Okay, Dad." Tim took a breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me what your classes are like this year."

"_I finally got the university to let me teach a seminar-based course on Churchill."_

Tim laughed. "I knew you'd wear them down eventually."

"_You betcha."_

Tim was able to stay on the phone with his parents for another hour before he heard one of his charges indicate that they needed him.

"Sorry, I have to go."

"_It's been wonderful to talk to you, Tim,"_ Naomi said. _"Please don't wait another year."_

"I won't. Promise. Bye." Tim hung up and linked into the com. "Hello, Sgt. Dewey. This is your Observer. How can I help you?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One day later..._

Gibbs was glaring at his monitor. What Abby had managed to dig up on the Observer Handbook was basically worthless. Starting salary? Insurance? What good was any of this? ...but then, that's probably why it was available. Useless.

He was about to delete it but then he looked again.

"Sick days? Vacation? Anything?" He skimmed through the material again. There was nothing. Nothing to indicate any compensation for days off. ...did Observers even _get_ days off? They had to.

"What was that, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Nothing." Gibbs stared at the information again. No, if this segment he'd been given was complete, a successful application to become an Observer meant giving up any free time...for as long as one was in the job. ...and there was nothing about severance pay or anything like that.

"What are you looking at?" Ziva asked curiously. "I thought you were convinced that we had our killer. You sent the case to JAG already."

"Oh, he did it," Gibbs said without looking up.

"Then, what's up?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Gibbs said and then rolled his eyes when his phone rang. He closed the file and answered. "Gibbs."

"_Agent Gibbs?"_ the whispered voice sounded nervous.

"Yes. What do you want?"

"_I have information...about your case."_

"What case?"

"_It's more complicated than a guy out to kill cops. A lot more."_

"How do you know?"

"_I have information, but I'm not giving it out over the phone."_

"Sorry to hear that," Gibbs said and started to hang up. NCIS (along with every other law enforcement agency) had cracked down on anonymous tips and snitches. Too many led to nothing.

"_I know things that you'll want to hear...about the Observers!"_

Gibbs paused. If he could get actual evidence of a link between this case and the Observers... but there was no guarantee that it was real. This might be a guy whose only goal was to take out a cop or two.

"I need something more than that."

"_There's a plan...about the Observers. I overheard it."_

"Okay. Where?"

"_I'm not meeting you with your posse."_

"Where?" Gibbs said again.

"_Out of DC. West. Drive northwest into Maryland. I'll give you better directions then."_

"Fine." Gibbs hung up, grabbed his gun and headed for the elevator.

"Boss, bad idea!" Tony protested.

"Yes, Gibbs, this is foolish. You know that..."

"Hey, I won't be alone." Gibbs smiled and continued on his way. As soon as he left the building, he called for Tim.

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is your Observer. How may I help you?"_

"Hey, McGee. We're going for a ride. I need you to watch my back."

"_Where are you going and why is it necessary to go alone?"_

Gibbs smiled at the resignation in Tim's voice. Sometimes, he did let out just a bit of emotion.

"To meet a possible source and get some evidence. I'm headed toward Maryland right now. Don't know exactly where just yet."

"_Very well."_ There was the typical pause. Gibbs guessed that Tim was linking in to whatever he used to trace Gibbs' whereabouts, whatever it was that made it so easy for him to give vital information. _"Is this a good source?"_

"Don't know. That's why I want you on the ready. In case this is a wild goose chase."

"_You should take real backup, Agent Gibbs. This is unsafe."_

"I trust you. I don't trust him. It'll be fine."

"_Very well,"_ Tim said again.

Gibbs drove in silence for a few minutes and then his phone rang.

"McGee?"

"_Yes, Agent Gibbs."_

"I'm getting a call. Can you link in and trace it?"

"_Yes."_

Gibbs answered the phone. "Where?" he asked.

"_Head north on 270. Then, get onto I-70 and take the Braddock Heights exit. There's a church just off highway 40. That's where I'll be."_

Click.

"Did you get him, McGee?"

"_Only the general area, Agent Gibbs, but it fits with the directions he gave you. He can be trusted that far."_

"All right. Let's go, then."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim watched anxiously as the blip that was Gibbs came to a halt at the church parking lot. He had a bad feeling about this...but he often did when Gibbs went off by himself. Trying to focus on the task at hand, he hooked into one of the satellites overhead and instructed it to zoom in so that he could see what there was to see.

"_Talk to me, McGee."_

"I see your position...but there is no sign of..." Then, he stopped, and his mind instantly changed tacks. "Get back, Agent Gibbs! Get back! Go! It's a trap! Five men coming out of the church! Go!"

To Tim's relief, Gibbs didn't ask any questions. He turned and headed back to his car, but then, he and Tim both saw a problem.

"Take cover! I'll call for backup!"

"_Hurry it up, McGee," _Gibbs said and Tim watched him dive for cover as the bullets began to fly.

Tim linked in to the larger network and hooked into the NCIS building.

"_Agent DiNozzo."_

"Agent DiNozzo, this is Agent Gibbs' Observer. He is in immediate need of..."

...and then, Tim couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He could barely breathe. A jolt of electricity surged into his brain. It felt as though his entire body was on fire...but his head in particular. The jolt was so powerful that it knocked him off his chair and to the floor, his muscles seizing in response. It was a million times worse than a taser. Jethro was by him in an instant, nudging him and whining worriedly.

"H-Hello?" Tim managed to get out. There was no sound in his head, none in his ear. Nothing.

"Can anybody hear me?" he begged.

Jethro's whining increased.

"Jethro. Go. Get help. Abby. Go." That was all Tim could get out. He knew his neighbors wouldn't dare help, even if they were home which they might not be. Some neighborhoods were extremely tight-knit and they would come to each other's defense. ...but not here.

Tim dimly heard the sound indicating Jethro had opened the door and run out. He tried to move but all his muscles were still seizing from the jolt. His head was still on fire...and he was aware of strange sounds coming out of his own mouth, sounds he wasn't controlling at all.

How long he lay on the floor in that state, he didn't know, but suddenly there were footsteps. Multiple footsteps...and somehow he knew that these weren't friends coming to help.

"So...this is an Observer. A wuss in a wheelchair. Nice."

"Stop gabbing and get him."

"All right, but I'm not lugging those metal things on his legs."

"Fine."

Tim managed to exert enough control over his own muscles to move his head and look at the man as he approached. He grinned maliciously.

"Still awake, huh? Not for long."

He roughly grabbed Tim's legs and removed the braces. Then, a hand appeared in front of his face. The smell warned him and he tried to get away, but he couldn't. The rag was thrust over his face and he was forced to breathe in the rank fumes.

"So much for the powers of observation."

Then, everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Hello? Hello?" Tony looked at Ziva with concern.

"What is it, Tony?" she asked.

"That was Gibbs' Observer. He started to tell me that Gibbs needed help but he cut out before he even finished the sentence."

"Cut out? How is that possible?"

"I don't know, but if Gibbs has his phone..."

Ziva nodded and dialed the number while Tony called for Abby to try tracing the GPS in Gibbs' car.

"There is no answer, Tony," Ziva said. "Nothing. I have tried three times."

"Okay. Okay, we'll get help from Abby. His car, at least, has to be traced. ...if..." Then, he stopped and looked at her. "You know what? We've got too dependent on the Observers. We expect them to be there all the time. ...and this time, it looks like something has gone wrong."

"We should tell Vance. He can make a report on this to the Observers. If there _is_ something that has gone wrong with the Observer himself... We cannot know who he is."

Tony's phone rang.

"Yeah, Abbs?" he asked.

"_I found Gibbs' car! It's in Braddock Heights, Maryland."_

"Okay. Abby, I need you to talk to Vance and let him know that something happened with Gibbs' Observer."

"_What?"_

"Ziva and I are going out to Braddock Heights. Send me the exact address. You tell Vance that Gibbs' Observer contacted me to report that there was some problem but that his transmission cut out and he didn't come back on."

"_Right. On it. Just get Gibbs back!"_

"We're on it, Abbs."

He and Ziva hurried to the elevator. Two wasn't much better than one alone, but they were both at least going open-eyed into a situation that was likely very dangerous.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

...what they found when they finally arrived at the scene was worse than dangerous.

Nothing.

All they saw was an empty parking lot...except for Gibbs' car. No Gibbs. No attack in progress. Not even shell casings.

"We're too late," Tony said. "They have him. It was a trap."

"But if it was just to kill him, he would be here," Ziva pointed out. "They wanted something from Gibbs. What could it be?"

"Who knows? It's not like the boss is all that great about letting us in on things. Let's look around and see if we can find something they left behind."

Ziva nodded...but neither of them had much hope.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs opened his eyes and groaned a little as he sat up and got a look at his surroundings. He was in about the worst place a prisoner could be taken: a prison...one under control of the criminals. It had been a thankfully rare thing, but there was a handful of prisons scattered across the nation where large-scale riots had resulted in the complete breakdown of control...and the triumph of the prisoners who either escaped en masse or else took the prison for their headquarters. Many of the criminals loved the imagery of a cop in a prison cell.

Gibbs had noticed early on in the assault that only one man was actually trying very hard to hit him. He had focused his fire on that man...and taken him and two others down before he'd been overwhelmed.

He hadn't been badly injured, just a knock on the head that had stunned him, but Tim's sudden disappearance from his ear had distracted him more than he'd ever want to admit. It wasn't just the loss of contact. It was the very brief cry he'd heard before the com had shut down. Something had happened to Tim and Gibbs had a sinking feeling that it had happened because Gibbs had come out here.

He was left alone for about an hour and then he heard steps down the hallway.

"Step to the back of the cell with your hands in front of you!" a voice commanded.

Gibbs did as requested. At this point, he had no alternative but to comply until he got the lay of the land.

The door opened and two men dragged a third into the cell.

"We've got some company for you, fed."

"I'm more of a loner," Gibbs said mildly.

"Oh, you'll want to get to know him better. Dump him," the man said.

The unconscious figure was casually dropped onto the cot where it lay twitching slightly.

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Don't recognize him? Guess there's no reason why you should. Meet your Observer, fed. Your little babysitter. A weak little man in a wheelchair. That's what you had as your backup. No wonder it was so easy to get you. Enjoy. We'll be back when we need you. Get comfortable. You're not going anywhere."

The men laughed and walked out of the cell, closing the door behind them. Gibbs rolled his eyes and then looked again at the unconscious man. He certainly didn't look his best, and there was no reason for Gibbs to think that he would know how...

Then, he paused in his thoughts and stared at the face. He'd seen that face before and he laughed at himself for not realizing it right away.

"Thom Gemcity," he muttered. "Ha."

Then he walked over to the cot and knelt down. He checked for the pulse since it appeared that something not so great had happened to his Observer. It was fast and erratic. His breathing matched his pulse. All in all, they hadn't given him a person in any state to run for freedom. Not yet anyway.

Gibbs gently tapped Tim's face.

"McGee? McGee?"

The twitching increased and then Tim's eyes flew open and he instantly started trying to get up.

"Whoa, there, McGee. I think you should stay down for a bit."

Strange sounds came from Tim's mouth and he didn't seem to be entirely awake just yet. Fidgety and anxious, yes. Awake, no.

"McGee, can you hear me?"

Tim stopped struggling and relaxed, although the twitching continued. Then, there was a mumbling voice.

"Hello, Agent Gibbs. This is your Observer. How can I help you?"

"McGee! Wake up!"

Tim winced and then blinked a number of times before opening his eyes and looking around.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Slightly better, but not much as Tim seemed completely disoriented. This was quite a change from the calm and collected voice in his head. Then, Gibbs noticed the singed hair on the left side of Tim's head...right where one might find an Observer com.

"Don't worry, McGee. You and me. We're prisoners, sharing a cell. Just relax. We'll figure out what to do about it when you're feeling better. You should probably rest for a while."

Tim kept blinking and wincing and then he looked at Gibbs.

"Agent Gibbs?"

"Yep. That's me."

To his surprise, Tim started trying to get up again.

"You need to be...on the cot. You should...let me...off and..."

"I don't think so, McGee," Gibbs said with a worried laugh. He pushed Tim back down, but this time, Tim kept struggling to get off the cot. "Hey! Stay down!"

"No...no...against...the rules..."

"What rules? You're the injured one, McGee."

Tim was beginning to slip back toward unconsciousness...but he still struggled slightly to give up the cot. He started to shiver.

"What rules, McGee?"

"Rule...number one..."

"Never let suspects stay together."

"No...my rules. Observer...rules."

"What's rule number one?"

Another wince.

"The Observer will not...not put any value on his own life. He must be willing to give up life, freedom...property...anything required if necessary in order to do ...his...job. If...at any time...his life is in danger, he will give it up without thought. If at any time he attempts to preserve anything of his own at the expense of the life or comfort or wishes of his charge, he will be...disciplined...uh...fired..."

Gibbs was appalled. There was a difference between being _willing_ to give up one's life and being told one's life had no value.

"Well, you know what, McGee? You're not here as my Observer. You're a fellow prisoner...and you're injured. So you should stay there."

"No...No..." Tim made one more effort.

Gibbs sighed and pushed Tim down once again. "All right. Fine. If you're supposed to do what your charge says, then I'm telling you to stay on that cot and sleep! Got it?"

Tim looked at him once more...completely befuddled.

"Go to sleep...Tim. It's all right."

Tim's eyes rolled up in his head and he was out. Gibbs turned Tim's head so he could get a good look at his injuries. He was no expert, but what he saw looked bad. There were burns on his head, a couple of places where all the hair was burned away. Then, mostly out of curiosity, he looked at Tim's legs. They didn't have the atrophied, withered look that paralyzed people's legs often did. ...and now that he thought about it, Tim had been _moving_ his legs when he was trying to get off the cot. So...why would they say he was in a wheelchair? ...and yet, if this was the same person he'd seen in the park, and he couldn't see how it could be otherwise, he had been in a wheelchair there as well...and he'd had the same kind of control and facility with it that most people in wheelchairs did.

Gibbs found that, now that he was faced with the opportunity to speak face-to-face with his Observer, he was burning with questions, things he wanted to know. Was it because he had the chance now or was it because he hadn't really considered Tim as a fellow human being when he only had him in his head?

...or maybe it was because he saw no way out just yet, and wondering about the life of his Observer distracted him from that fact.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Where?" Vance asked.

The Observer was grave. "If our extrapolation is correct, and we think it is, your Agent Gibbs is likely being held in Cumberland."

That meant only one thing, Vance knew...the former federal correctional facility, the site of the largest prison riot and one of the largest criminal strongholds in the Eastern U.S.

"Cumberland," he repeated.

"Yes."

Vance didn't know what to say. All the aspects that had made Cumberland an effective prison also made it almost impossible to assault without a huge number of men...a task that had not yet been attempted. It would take too much manpower...and in this uncertain time...

"Oh, what about his Observer?"

A shrug...which was a strange manner of reacting to a genuine question whether he was safe or not.

"My agent was worried that something might have happened to him."

The Observer nodded briefly. "Yes, he has been taken...more than likely to the same location. His other charges have been reassigned."

"That wasn't why I was asking."

"Why then?"

"You must be worried about losing one of your employees," Vance said, although he was now questioning what should have been a foregone conclusion.

"None of _us_ are irreplaceable, Director Vance. There is always someone to step in. Our only concern is for the law enforcement officer whose life may be in danger. If we can be of further use on that score, do not hesitate to contact us again." He stood up and left the room.

Vance sat back, shocked and a bit disgusted at the casual disregard for another life. Sure, it was important that the LEOs could do their jobs, but part of that job was protecting the public...and every Observer was a part of that. Their lives were just as important as anyone else's. That brought him around to thinking about his own Observer. He tried not to call on him very much. As the director, he had an escort almost everywhere he went already. It was an extremely rare occasion that saw him alone. Did all Observers have that same callous disregard for their own lives? He pitied them if that was the case.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim awakened with the mother of all headaches raging. The left side of his head throbbed and it felt as though he was actually paralyzed. Worried, he came fully awake and started to sit up...relieved that all his body parts responded...but then he groaned and fell back to the cot.

"Awake again, McGee?"

Tim moved his head too quickly and groaned again, squeezing his eyes tightly closed to stave off the pain.

"Again?" he asked.

"You don't remember being brought in here?"

"Where's here?"

"Prison."

Tim opened his eyes wide at that and looked toward the voice.

"Agent Gibbs."

"Drop the formal speak, McGee."

"Why?"

"Because we're both in prison...and do you really think you'll be kept on as my Observer if and when we get out of here? Isn't that why you pretended to be someone else when I saw you in the park?"

Tim smiled wanly. "Fooled you, though, didn't I."

"You were good, I'll give you that."

"Thanks. What are you doing in here?"

"The same thing you are. We're both prisoners."

"But why?"

"They haven't said. Yet. Hopefully, we can figure out how to get out of here before that happens."

Tim levered himself into a sitting position and then held his head in his hands as if it were made of fragile glass.

"_We_?" he asked. "_We_ are not going anywhere. _You_ need to escape, not me...not that it's likely in any case."

"And why is that?" Gibbs asked. "Rule number one?"

Tim lifted his head. "How did you–? I told you."

"Yes. Is that really what you think? Your life doesn't mean anything and only mine matters?"

"That is the first rule of being an Observer," Tim said. "Your life no longer has any value except as a shield. If you fail as a shield, then you fail as a thing of value. I'd probably be fired anyway. I didn't keep you from getting taken."

"And how were you supposed to do that when whatever they did to you..."

"Electric shock, sent through my com. Still feeling it."

"And you think you should have been able to save me from this?"

"Doesn't matter," Tim said. He sighed. "Don't you get it, Agent Gibbs? When you become an Observer, you agree to no longer value your own life. It doesn't matter whether or not I _could_ have saved you. The fact that I didn't means that I failed to prove my value. Every Observer has no inherent value unless they are doing their jobs. Since I failed at doing my job, I'm worthless."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"Well, that's the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time."

"Saved _your_ life a few times."

"Doesn't keep it from being stupid."

Tim laughed. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. The fact is that I can't be of any use as I am. I'll only drag you down. That means that you need to leave me behind when you escape. No one will be coming for me."

"No one? What about your employers?"

"Would _you_ try to retrieve something that was lost...but broken and useless?"

"Okay...well, let me tell _you_ something, McGee," Gibbs said.

The tone made Tim lift his aching head and look at him.

"I don't care what your Observer rules say. If you're no longer an Observer, then they don't apply. _My_ rules do because I'm here. ...and my rules say that you never leave someone behind, particularly not a comrade. I'll sooner die myself than leave you here. Got that?"

Tim looked at him, feeling strange. He couldn't remember the last time someone had implied that he himself was valuable just as a human being. Well, Abby...but she would feel the same way about anything...and his parents had to love him. He was their son. ...but Gibbs.

"What, McGee?"

Tim smiled a little. "I almost believe you."

"About what?"

"That you think I'm worth trying to save. Funny. I've never really been on this side of things...the one being saved. I'm the one who does the saving...from a distance."

"And how does it feel?"

Tim looked Gibbs in the eye, for almost the first time. "Being treated like a human being? You have no idea how good that feels, Gibbs."

"Get used to it."

"Right."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"So...should I call you McGee or Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"Whatever," Tim said. "I hear McGee more. Abby calls me Tim...so do my parents."

"Abby?"

Tim smiled. "Yeah, I've known Abby for a few years now. I'm her secret source."

Gibbs looked at him for a few seconds. "Where she got that piece of the Observer Handbook?"

"Yep. I had to give her something. She'd never let it go otherwise."

"True. So is it real?"

"Yeah. You know how much I make."

"And what you don't get. No sick days? No emergency leave?"

"Only if I'm in a coma or in the hospital or something so serious that I can't possibly work." Tim dropped his head and massaged his temples. "It hurts pretty bad."

"So...tell me about yourself."

"What?"

"I'd like to know about you...since you don't have any excuse not to tell me now."

"You're the one so interested in getting free."

"You're not? I can think about more than one thing at once. Can't you?"

Tim laughed. "What do you want to know?"

"The basics. Where are you from?"

"Why does it matter?"

"McGee, you've had my back for the last eight years and I don't know anything about you."

"Okay. I guess you could say I'm from Ohio."

"You guess?"

"My dad was in the Navy. We moved around a lot when I was young. I was born in Bethesda, though. He left the Navy when I was about eight years old, went back to school. He got a job in Ohio after he finished and...that's where my parents still live."

"Any other family?"

"Some."

Gibbs gave Tim a look. "What about school?"

Tim shook his head. "Now, this isn't necessary. I know for a fact that you get what degrees I have. You know all that already."

"But not why you picked them."

Tim gave a half smile. "Because I had a job that I wanted to get more than anything in the world...and I wanted to look indispensable when I applied...not that...I could after..."

"After what?"

"I was in a car accident during my senior year. My sixteenth birthday, my dad got me a car."

"Sixteen in your senior year?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty smart."

"I'd say."

"I'm not a genius, just smart."

"The accident?"

Tim stared at his feet. "My birthday. Dad and I went for a drive to try out the new wheels. There was an accident. A stupid moment of inattention on my part, a miscalculation on the part of a guy driving a bus." Tim smiled ironically. "It's a tragedy worthy of a TV movie. My dad was paralyzed. I broke my leg...and then after it healed, I couldn't walk."

"Paralyzed? You moved your legs before."

"No, I'm not paralyzed. I can feel my legs. I can even take a step or two but no more than that. I just can't stay upright...and my legs won't hold me up. I can do a bit better with my braces on, but..." He shrugged.

Gibbs thought about it for a few seconds.

"That doesn't sound like a problem with your legs, McGee."

"Don't go there, Agent Gibbs," Tim said flatly.

"I mean it, McGee. If it was a problem with your legs, wouldn't–?"

"Stop!" Tim said loudly. "Just stop! You said yourself that you don't know anything about me! ...and you're right!" He stood up and grabbed hold of the bars of the cell, wobbling as he did so. "You don't know how bitter I was about being like this, how many years it took to accept it at all...and how long I had to hide what I felt because my dad was so much worse off! You don't know about how devastated I was when my leg healed but I still couldn't walk...and had to give up on every dream I'd had! You don't know how many times I've had doctors build up...hope that there'd be a miracle...only to have it be false _every_ time. You don't know about all that...so don't even try to suggest anything. Don't do that. Don't do that...to me. Understand?"

Another pain stabbed in his head and Tim found he couldn't stand and deal with it at the same time and sank back to the cot...rather heavily.

"McGee?"

Tim stared at the floor. "I'm not going to deal with another dashed hope, Agent Gibbs. I can't. I gave up on all that years ago. Useless hope is for fools...and I don't have the...the oomph to deal with it again."

"And what falls in the category of useless hope? Getting out of here?"

"Maybe."

"So...what dreams did you give up?"

"What?" Tim looked at Gibbs who was still sitting imperturbably on the floor.

"You said you gave up every dream you ever had. Which ones?"

"I think this goes beyond the basics, Agent Gibbs. Basics are family, schooling...not destroyed dreams."

"What have you got to lose?"

"Nothing, I guess...unlike my dad who could still do the job he loved after he was paralyzed...I couldn't."

"What does he do?"

"He's a professor, English literature...and he's obsessed with Winston Churchill." Tim smiled. "He now entertains his classes by popping wheelies in his chair on the first day of the semester. He could still do that."

"What job did you want?"

Tim tried to smile again, but it was harder this time. "Yours."

"Mine? Specifically?" Gibbs asked with a smile.

Tim laughed a little. "No. You weren't even a blip on my radar until I met you. I wanted to be an NCIS agent. That was my goal from the time I was pretty young...well before the accident. I wanted to be a detective like in all the stories...the Navy because of my dad. That's what I wanted. I planned on studying computer forensics because I figured it would look good on my resume. Then, too...I was still hoping when I went to college. Instead...I got the next best thing...to watch someone else doing the job I wanted."

"That's next best?"

"Close as I could get."

"How did you figure that?"

"I was one of the first people recruited to the Observers outside law enforcement officers. They authorize certain people to recruit applicants. I guess my doctor was one of them...and...and he knew what notes to sound. I'd never be able to walk again. I couldn't do what I wanted to do. I had no ideas of what to try next. ...and here was a way that I could at least touch the world I wanted to be in."

"Why didn't you just apply for a different position at NCIS if that's where you wanted to be?"

Tim laughed bitterly. "And settle for something other than exactly what I wanted? ...and deal with people's pity? I get enough of that as it is just from people who see me on the street. Deal with that as part of my job? I don't think so..." Then, he sighed. "That's how I felt then, at any rate."

"And now?"

"Now...I don't know. I don't know. I can even think straight right now." He winced. "It feels like someone heated up an ice pick and jammed it into my brain."

"Unpleasant?"

"To say the least. I thought that it might go away after I'd been awake for a while, but it sure hasn't yet."

"You don't shake off electric shock in a few hours, McGee."

"Guess not. So...any ideas about how you're going to escape with a cripple in tow?"

"Not just yet. We've got time. Now, are you thinking clearly enough to figure out why they wanted both of us?"

"No. I don't know why..." Tim felt his com. "Hey...is there a light on my com?" He turned his head toward Gibbs and then winced as Gibbs accidentally touched the burns. "Any lights?"

"A red one."

"Great," Tim said. "Red means that it still works...but it won't be able to contact anyone. It might reset..." He felt back behind his ear and fiddled with his com. "Is there a light on now?"

"No. No lights."

"Okay. It's going to be thinking about it for a while, I guess. I hope."

"What good will that do? I'm here."

"I have to be hooked in to a lot more people than you do, Agent Gibbs. I have six charges in all and I have to be able to speak to all of them at need...not that it will matter. They'll all have been reassigned at this point. Actually, even you will have been reassigned, but they'll probably wait to contact you until they're sure about whether or not you're alive."

He knew Gibbs noticed that he hadn't mentioned anything about himself...but Gibbs didn't comment on it this time.

"What else can your com do that mine can't?"

"Um...uh...there's..." Tim sat up. "Oh, no. No..." The realization seemed to contribute to his omnipresent headache and he leaned over.

"What?"

"The only way I can think that they could track me down is...is if they had isolated the Observer frequencies."

"Meaning?"

"Observers have a...a special set of frequencies that are encrypted and only for their use. All the men who were killed had Observers...and in a life-or-death situation...we're supposed to be calm...but you can bet that we're not. We're just good at sounding that way. When a man's life is in jeopardy, you take risks you wouldn't take otherwise. They could have...could have targeted people with Observers in order to track down the frequency of each individual one."

"And if they could isolate the frequencies?"

"I don't know. It's an independent system. It's...oh...no, it isn't. I mean, it is, but it's not. Gibbs, don't you see?"

"Not yet, McGee. Why don't you try speaking in complete sentences?"

A particularly sharp pain wrung a soft groan from Tim's lips.

"It's...It's not an independent system because it can't be completely. Every Observer operates independently. That's supposed to give us security because that means if one Observer is compromised, then the system itself won't be. If someone tracked me down to my apartment...like they did...they'd only have me...and I can't tell them where the central system is...because I don't know it. No active Observer knows, only those in the higher positions. ...but if they could get a number of Observers and if they could narrow down the field they observe...they could track in on the system itself, not the location necessarily, but the system. They could use it...to do the opposite of what it does. I'm supposed to keep you safe and that means I have to know everywhere you go when you're out by yourself. You see now?"

"If they could track in on that, they could see exactly where a LEO was," Gibbs said.

"Exactly. Even if my com does work...I can't use it. This is probably one of the last pieces they need. If I could get it working, if they haven't already cut off my access completely...which they might have done, if they haven't, one call to any other Observer would give them more information on the system itself. That's what they want."

"Then, that means that you _have_ to get out, McGee."

"Or I have to die."

Tim was slightly amused when Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"You should get some more sleep. You obviously need it."

"I don't think sleep is going to solve anything."

"Might improve your attitude."

Tim smiled. "Eight years of working for the Observers hasn't done that. Did you know that I wasn't really supposed to be your Observer? They put me on the list out of desperation, not because they thought you'd pick me. One of the first times I ever saw them surprised about anything."

"Good," Gibbs said. "I don't think I made a bad choice."

"Thanks, Agent Gibbs."

"Drop the formal stuff, McGee."

"Hard habit to break."

"Try...and get back to sleep. You look like you're about out anyway."

"I am. You sure you don't want the cot?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Okay."

Tim lay down on the cot and closed his eyes. Then, he rolled onto his back and stared at the grimy ceiling for a few minutes.

"One of the things anonymity is supposed to do is keep an Observer from forming any kind of emotional or personal attachment to his charges. Any personal connection is grounds for being removed as an Observer. ...but I shouldn't have been yours," Tim said softly. "It didn't take very long at all for me to...to want to be on your team, a part of your world. It wasn't just a job for me. It was like getting to watch the life I could have had...and I cared about that. I cared about the people in that world, not just the law enforcement position...which is all I'm _supposed_ to care about. Individuals are replaceable, the position is not. ...but not to me. Never to me. I cared about the people."

Tim didn't look over at Gibbs to see what he made of that declaration. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was hours later and Gibbs was still stymied about what he could do to get Tim and himself out of this prison. No matter what he'd said, Tim's physical status was a big hindrance to getting them both out alive. A man who couldn't walk, no matter the reason, was a drain on resources. ...but that didn't matter insofar as determining who was getting out. It just made the planning more difficult. For one thing, it necessitated _both_ of them getting free. Tim couldn't just make a run for it. He needed Gibbs to get him out.

Darkness came over the cell before Tim made any sound. Another groan signaled his return to consciousness. Gibbs was worried about that. It looked bad and Tim still being in pain demonstrated a probable serious injury.

"Any bright ideas?" Tim asked through the darkness. He sounded slightly cynical.

"McGee, I'm going to make you a deal."

"What's that?"

"First, I've trusted you for years. I think it's time that you returned the favor."

Tim laughed softly. "That's the deal?"

"No. That's the lead-in. Here's the deal: If we both get out of here _alive_, you're going to let me take you to a doctor, a brain surgeon I know, and let him look inside your head."

"Why." The word was flat.

"Because I think there's something screwy and I think you deserve to know."

"What if I don't agree? I told you, Agent Gibbs, I don't _want_ any more miracles."

"That's the deal."

"This deal is contingent upon two things: first, that we both get out. Highly unlikely for me. Second, that I actually _want_ this. I don't."

"Yes, you do. You just don't want to be disappointed."

There was a long silence.

"What if we _don't_ both get out alive?"

"You can say _I told you so_ with your dying breath."

Another soft laugh. "Fine. I'll practice."

"I don't think you need the practice. Besides, I need an honest effort from you in helping us get out."

"I only give honest efforts...except when I had to lie to do my job."

"What about now?"

"I'm not lying now. I only lie when I have to. I hate that part. Always have."

Gibbs walked over to the cell door and began fiddling with it. "Anything else you'd change from your tenure as an Observer?" he asked, almost idly.

The pause was longer than he expected...as was the answer Tim gave.

"I would have gone to my sister's funeral."

"Your what?" He turned toward Tim and could just see the outline of his face in the darkness.

"My sister...Sarah. She died about four years ago...she and her...ex-boyfriend. They were murdered."

Gibbs tried to think of something to say, but Tim kept talking.

"She'd ticked off some girls on Waverly campus. They set her up to be raped, drugged her and while she was walking across campus, the guy they'd asked to do it attacked her. She fought back, and a sailor, her ex, he saw...tried to save her from what the NCIS investigator said. Tried. Failed. Died. In the fight, the attacker pulled a knife. Stabbed them both." Tim took a deep breath and let it out. "My parents came. It was the last time I saw them. To keep my identity hidden from you, the Observers changed her name and insisted that another MCRT investigate. I was getting ready to go to the funeral when...one of my charges called on me for assistance."

"And you gave it?"

"Had to. Couldn't say no. Can't _ever_ say no."

"Did he ever know?"

"I guess not...until now."

Gibbs felt as though he'd been sucker-punched.

"Did you ever notice, Agent Gibbs?"

"...no."

"Then, you never knew. My parents were angry at first, but they accepted it after a while. ..._they _did...but I've never forgiven myself for missing my sister's funeral."

"McGee?" Gibbs asked after a long silence.

"Yeah?"

"I'm...really sorry."

One more long silence.

"Thanks."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Some hours passed and Tim lay quietly on the cot. He hadn't really planned on telling Gibbs about Sarah. There had been a period when he had resented Gibbs for his tendency to go off on his own and need Tim's help...but he hadn't let that go on for long. He couldn't do his job if he hated the person he was supposed to protect. So he had tried to move on, thinking that if he did his job well enough, he could help prevent this kind of tragedy from happening again. ...his regret was for the fight he'd had with his parents, one that had led to months of isolation. He'd never spoken to them very much, and Sarah had always been more uncomfortable with his job than anyone. After Sarah died, there had been a time when it felt as though he'd been completely orphaned, bereft of any family at all. Words had been said between Tim and his parents, especially his father, that, even now, resulted in some strain when they talked.

Footsteps in the hallway startled Tim out of his thoughts. He sat up and looked toward Gibbs who was also awake. Gibbs got to his feet and faced the door.

"Step to the back of the cell, fed."

The order had to be obeyed, and Gibbs did...almost docilely, which told Tim, at least, that Gibbs was hiding something. The men came in and looked at Tim.

"You. Up."

Tim laughed at them. "And how do you expect me to do that? You took away my braces and you didn't bring a wheelchair. What exactly are you expecting me to do to obey your order? I'm crippled, remember?" Tim let out the bitterness, but he stayed as calm as he could.

The man rolled his eyes and then gestured to one of his henchmen.

"Get him."

The man approached and hauled Tim none-too-gently out of the cell. Tim didn't even bother to try and walk. He didn't want to make their job any easier than he had to. If they thought him weaker than he was, all the better. As they dragged him along, Tim's eyes were everywhere. It appeared that he and Gibbs were being kept in a second-floor cell...but fairly close to the entrance...if that ever happened to matter. Not much in the way of cover. ...but not too many people around either. Interesting.

Then, he was pulled roughly into a large room...and thrown to the floor. It was humiliating to be forced to look up, as if he was a slave, but Tim was determined not to show it. Weak he might be. Useless he might be...but he wasn't a doormat and he would not let them take all his dignity away from him. No one was allowed to do that. He struggled to his hands and knees and then looked up.

"What?" he asked.

"Is that any way to greet your host?"

"Not much of a host...I'm only giving you the respect you deserve."

One of the men behind him gave Tim a sharp swat on the head which knocked him back to the floor. Tears of pain came to his eyes but he struggled to hold them back and when he spoke, it was in his calm Observer voice.

"I'm guessing you didn't bring me in here just to grovel at your feet. What do you want?"

"We have a lot to talk about."

"Then, let me sit in a chair," Tim said. "I'm not going to talk on the floor."

Tim sensed movement behind him and he steeled himself for another hit.

"No. He's right. Get him a chair."

A scraping sound and then Tim felt himself unceremoniously pulled off the floor and plunked onto a hard chair.

"This was the infirmary when it was a prison. Lovely room, isn't it?"

Tim looked around. It definitely had the stark feel of a hospital. Then, he looked at the man who was speaking to him. He had an air of authority...but it wasn't a _sure_ authority. It was the kind of authority that lasted only so long as he was stronger than everyone around him. Instantly, Tim felt scornful.

"What do you want?"

The man's face hardened slightly.

"What do _you_ want, that's the real question," he said.

"You can't possibly give me what I want; so if that's what this is about, you can put me back into my cell."

"Oh really? I can give quite a bit. What don't you think I can do for you?"

"The only thing I want is to be able to walk again," Tim said. "You can't give me that. No one can. If it were possible, I would have gone into debt so far that I was paying it back the rest of my life and I'd be walking. Since I'm not and since you can't give me that, you have nothing I want. I don't have a job any longer since you captured me."

There was a flash of surprise and Tim smiled.

"Don't you know _anything_ about the Observers? Don't you think that they prepared for something like this happening? As soon as I disappeared, they would have automatically reassigned my charges and they would have shut down my access." That last part was possibly a lie, but Tim had a feeling that they didn't know as much as they _wanted_ to know about the Observers. "So I have nothing to give you and no one who will come after me." That wasn't _exactly_ true either, but his parents wouldn't expect to hear from him at any certain interval...and the Observers certainly wouldn't tell them about his disappearance.

"And you like that?"

Tim laughed. "If you're suggesting that I want revenge, think again. Even if I did, I hate your kind a lot more than I could ever hate the Observers. You're all scum who kill for the pleasure of it and break the law to get what you want. I'd sooner die than work for you. What are you going to try next?"

The man smiled and gestured to those who were standing silently behind him.

"Everyone has a price," he said mildly. "Everyone. It's just a matter of what that price is. We'll find yours, never fear. You have a price. We just don't know it yet."

The door behind Tim opened and Gibbs was pulled inside and shoved to his knees on the floor. One of them put a gun to his head.

"It's in the rules that you're supposed to do whatever it takes to save your charge, isn't it?"

"Yes," Tim said calmly even while his heart leapt into his throat.

"If your life isn't worth it, what about _his_ life?"

"You can't kill him," Tim said, not betraying his heart racing, his mind gibbering in fear.

"Why not?"

"He's the one person who has any value. If you kill him, then you have nothing. Absolutely nothing. ...and I told you that my charges have been reassigned. That includes him. He's no longer my responsibility. Think about this: if you pull that trigger and kill him then you have absolutely nothing. You have nothing to hold over me. You have nothing to bargain for. Nothing. You'll have shot yourself in the foot by shooting him in the head. I'm worth nothing as I am. He's worth something."

There was a long pause and Tim was terribly afraid that he'd miscalculated, afraid that he would have to watch Gibbs die...as he'd watched another charge die...as he'd watched Jim Nelson die at the hands of a criminal because he couldn't stop it. Through it all, his expression never changed even as his heart plummeted to his shoes.

Finally, the man smiled at him. There was no warmth nor friendliness in the smile, but the smile was there and Tim knew he'd passed some sort of test.

"All right. We haven't found your price yet. We will. Take them back to their cell."

Gibbs was forced back to his feet, and Tim was pulled off the chair.

"By the way," the man said.

The henchman dragging Tim stopped and moved Tim around so that he could look back.

"...I have invested a lot of time and money in this enterprise. If no one will miss you, that means I have a _lot_ of time on my hands...how much time _you_ have is yet to be determined. I can make whatever time you have so miserable that you'll wish you were dead...and you won't be. Take them away."

Gibbs was pushed into the cell and then Tim was thrown onto the floor. The door closed and latched behind him and he lay on the ground, feeling the need to freak out building up inside him.

Gibbs unassumingly walked over and helped Tim back to the cot. After he was laying down again, he began breathing heavily and shaking.

"Good for you, McGee. You called their bluff."

"Y-Y-Yeah. I d-d-did."

"I thought that was an act, McGee."

Tim shook his head. "N-No. I used to stutter...stutter all the time, but I had speech therapy and it o-only comes out when I'm...really nervous...or upset."

"That got to you, didn't it."

Tim nodded. "Y-Yeah. I knew it was a bluff...but I was afraid I was wrong. ...and...I don't want to see another of my charges die."

"Another?"

"I told you before, remember? One of my charges was killed by that man you arrested."

Silence.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For how I've thought of you."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't really thought of you as a person, even though I knew you were."

"Doesn't matter. You're not _supposed_ to think of me as a person. I'm an Observer. Nothing more."

"It _does_ matter. You're a _lot_ more than that, McGee. What you did in there proves it if nothing else does. How many people do you think could have done what you did and refused to give in to what he wanted? How many people do you think would have bought into the bluff...and given them _something_? You're a blank slate to them right now and they're trying to figure you out."

"You make it sound a lot more impressive than it is."

"No, McGee. I'm impressed, and that's not an exaggeration."

Tim rolled away from him and stared at the ceiling. "He's right, though, Agent Gibbs. I do have a price, but they haven't found it yet. I'm hoping they don't...because if they do...I'll help them. I'll do what they want...if I can."

Gibbs was quiet for a few seconds.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"He's right about something else. Everyone has their price. I do. He does. Everyone has something. The difference between people like us and people like him is that our price is usually less about ourselves and more about others."

Tim sat up and looked Gibbs in the eye.

"Gibbs?"

"What?"

"If you can't get me out of here, I want you to kill me. Don't leave me in here to betray what I believe in. I really would rather die than do that."

"We're both getting out of here. I already told you that."

"Face reality, Gibbs! I can't walk! The things that I could do to help you all depended upon equipment I don't have. I'm more useless than a child! I'm not going to be of any use in an escape! Just promise me that when you finally realize that...that you won't leave me here alive."

Gibbs walked over to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him just a bit.

"No, McGee. It's time for _you_ to face reality. Pull your head out of that Observer mindset you've lived in for the last however many years. I _never_ leave a man behind. ...and you are _not_ useless or worthless. When it comes time for us to leave, we're leaving together or not at all. Got it?"

Tim felt his throat tighten, and he was amazed that a simple statement could get to him like that.

"Are we clear, McGee?"

"Clear...Gibbs."

"Good. Now, you start thinking."

"About what?"

"About how we're going to get someone to come and help us when we do get out of here."

Tim opened his mouth to contradict but at Gibbs' glare, he subsided.

"All right, Gibbs."

"See? Now, was _that_ so hard?"

Tim let out a chuckle almost out of surprise.

"Start thinking, McGee. You're a lot smarter than I am and you know the resources we've got. Think of something."

"On it, Boss," Tim said and then flushed. "Sorry, Agent Gibbs."

"For what?"

Tim just shook his head and lay down.

"You can call me that anytime, McGee. You're a part of my team."

Again, Tim's throat tightened and he had to swallow hard to hide it.

"Thanks...Boss."

"You're welcome."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Even with her fears for Gibbs, Abby finally acceded to the inevitable and went home. It was very late, and she couldn't help wishing that she had an Observer to watch over her as she left. It wasn't very safe outside.

_Not that Gibbs' Observer stopped anything from happening to him,_ Abby thought rather bitterly. She didn't think it was fair that a person whose only job was to watch over Gibbs couldn't seem to handle that. At the same time, she knew she was being unfair to the Observer since something had apparently happened to him, too...and she really wondered how that had been possible. Locations were kept as secret as everything else about the Observers.

When she safely pulled into her parking space, Abby took a deep breath and walked as quickly as she could to the genuine safety offered by her building. Nothing had ever happened to her since she'd lived here, but she considered, for the hundredth time, the possibility of moving out of DC and into one of the safer communities.

"Hey, Abby!"

Abby jumped and turned around quickly to confront the person behind her.

"You're out late."

Abby sighed with relief. "So are you, Mrs. Williams."

"Forgot the trash. Dangerous or not, I'm not letting it stink up my apartment for another week."

Abby laughed.

"By the way, I came across your friend's dog sitting out on the front step earlier today, you know, the guy in the wheelchair. I let him come in this evening, the dog that is. He seems pretty...upset, if I'm reading that doggie face right."

"Jethro is here?"

"Yep. Parked himself outside your door and just whines when anyone approaches him."

"Huh. Weird. Thanks, Mrs. Williams."

"No problem. Good night."

"Good night," Abby said, but she was already distracted by the strangeness of Jethro being at her place. She hurried up the stairs to her apartment and, sure enough, Jethro was lying morosely in front of her door. "Jethro."

The dog jumped to his feet and began whining pitifully while wagging his tail. Abby crouched beside him.

"What's wrong? What's going on, Jethro?"

More whining.

"Is something wrong? ...something with Tim?"

Jethro licked her face.

"Okay. Okay, let's go." It wasn't the best idea she'd ever had before, but she couldn't let it lie when Jethro was so obviously distressed and...and here.

She shifted her bag to her other shoulder and headed back down the stairs. As she got into her car, she suddenly realized that she could actually be a bit safer. She pulled out her phone.

"_Abby, what's up? It's really late and I'm just getting to bed...and I'm getting up early tomorrow...or rather later today."_

"Tony, I need your help."

"_With what?"_

"A friend of mine...he's...I think something might be wrong and I'm going to his place now."

"_Might be?"_ Tony asked and yawned.

"His dog just showed up at my door and he's really upset."

"_Abby...his dog?"_ Tony sounded slightly irritated. _"Look, we've been searching for some way of getting Gibbs out of Cumberland, some way of figuring out whether or not he's even still alive...and you're worried about an upset dog?"_

"Tony, Tim lives in Silver Spring...and his dog somehow made it all the way over to my place! ...and he's upset! Please?"

"_Hey, Ziva lives in Silver Spring. That's a lot closer than I am. ...but I'll come, too. Call her and make sure you're not there by yourself."_

"Thank you, Tony! Thank you!"

"_If this is nothing, I'll be really ticked off at you, Abbs."_

"It's not nothing."

"_Call Ziva. I'll get dressed and head over. What's the address?"_

Abby gave Tim's address and then called Ziva. Securing her guarantee that she would be there (reluctantly), Abby drove quickly to Tim's place and saw Ziva's car parked outside the building.

"Your friend lives here?" she asked as Abby came over with Jethro in tow. "This is not a very friendly area."

Abby grinned. "He doesn't come off as very friendly when you first meet him. Tim puts off an unfriendly vibe and he doesn't like attention."

"What does he do?" Ziva asked as they headed for the stairs.

"Well...he's involved in some sort of classified work. He's never told me, said he's not allowed to. We met a few years ago in an MMORPG."

"This is his apartment?" Ziva asked pointing to the door.

"Yeah. Jethro, come on."

Jethro whined and trotted over to the door, pushing at it with his nose. Ziva sighed and walked over. She knocked first and then looked at Abby.

"I assume that you wish me to get inside?"

Abby grinned and nodded. "I've actually never been inside his apartment. It's weird, but he likes his privacy."

"Abby, are you certain that this man is what he seems? I would be suspicious of such behavior."

"That's because you're you, Ziva," Abby said. "If you knew Tim, you'd understand. Can you open the door?"

"Yes, of course." Ziva knelt down, moved Jethro to the side and began picking the lock. It took her longer than Abby expected. "This is a deceptive lock." Then, there was a click and the door opened.

Abby hurried past her and then stopped and looked around. The apartment was small. One bedroom if she guessed right, but that wasn't what stopped her in her tracks. It was all the computer equipment. There was one elaborate setup much like her own in her apartment. It was a typical gamer interface...but across from that which she expected was...something else.

"Whoa," she whispered.

"Something happened here," Ziva said, not paying as much attention to the computer as to the toppled wheelchair and the discarded braces. "It looks as though your feeling was correct, Abby."

"Ziva..."

"What, Abby? I can admit when I was wrong."

"No, not that...look." Abby pointed to the computers.

"It looks expensive."

Abby shook her head. "No, this...this isn't expensive. This is impossible. There's no way Tim could afford this kind equipment...and some of it...I don't even know what it is. It's...this..."

"What is so amazing about it, Abby?" Ziva asked, rising to her feet.

"It's all really cutting edge. Not like his other computer is. _I_ have that stuff. This is..." She reached out to touch the keyboard and Ziva grabbed her hand.

"No, Abby. It looks as though something has happened here. Do not corrupt the evidence. If you must touch, we will need gloves...and something went very wrong for your friend. Perhaps his classified work was more dangerous than you thought."

"I don't know why he'd have a dangerous job. I mean...Tim can't really walk. That's his wheelchair. Those are his braces. He...He shouldn't be doing something dangerous! If something happened to him...it must have been a mistake!"

Ziva didn't answer instead, she pulled a pair of gloves out of her kit and handed them to Abby.

"If you wish to look, do so, but be careful. Do not change anything."

Abby nodded and pulled on the gloves. She brought the computer to life with a touch and then gasped.

"Ziva! He's an Observer!"

"What?" Ziva looked up from her examination.

"Look at this program! It's connected to GPS satellites, there are..."

"Hey, what's up?" Tony asked from behind them as he came inside. "Anything?"

"A lot of things," Abby said.

"Her friend is not here," Ziva said. "And it appears that he was taken by someone."

"And that he's an Observer, Tony!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! This stuff! It's all about observation and communication. ...and..." She leaned over and clicked and gasped again. "And...he's... Tim is..."

"What?"

Abby pointed mutely at the monitor.

It was a list of names, each with a number of encrypted links beside them...but the names themselves were not encrypted. At the top of the list...

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Special Agent, NCIS."

"And...he's the one who was..."

"He's probably with..."

"This is your _friend_, Abby?" Tony asked in shock.

"Yes. He is...and he must have known...I've talked about everyone so much...and he never said a word. He...He pretended to...and...and he's missing. He must be with Gibbs."

"How could you never have...talked about him to us before, Abby?" Ziva asked.

"Because he said that he didn't want people staring at him...and he didn't like being out in big groups. ...and I sometimes asked him for help on cases."

"You _what_?" Tony asked.

"I asked him for help when I got stumped on things...and that's not something we're supposed to do...so I couldn't tell you where it was coming from."

"And no one would have looked for him...or does he have family?"

"He does...but he doesn't talk to them very much. He said they had a fight a few years ago and didn't talk as much after that. They probably wouldn't ever have known. ...the Observers wouldn't have done anything. He would have...just disappeared without anyone knowing or caring that he was gone." Abby brought her hands up over her mouth. "How awful...to live like that! What do we do now?"

Tony looked around at the scene. "Well, we know where Gibbs is. Vance told me that the Observers assumed that Gibbs' Observer was there as well and that he had lost his position because he allowed Gibbs to be taken...but it looks like they attacked the Observer as well."

"Tim. His name is Tim, Tony," Abby said. "I can't believe I never even knew his name until now...and it turns out that I almost always did know."

"We need to tell Vance about this and secure this as a crime scene related to Gibbs' abduction. The question is...which one did they really want? Gibbs or...McGee?"

"Either way...if they have them both...it doesn't matter."

"It does if that means one or the other of them is still alive."

"They both are," Abby said firmly. "Both of them...and they'll get out together. Gibbs wouldn't leave a man behind, and Tim wouldn't let anything happen to Gibbs if he was his Observer."

"Abby..."

"They're both alive, Tony," Abby said again. "I won't listen to anything else!"

"All right. I'll call Vance."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They came for Tim again during the night, pulled him out of the cell, but left Gibbs behind that time. Gibbs noticed that they were getting more casual about Tim as time went on. They thought of him as anything but a threat. ...which was good, but it didn't keep them from trying to use him.

Tim was gone for about an hour and then they dragged him back in and dumped him on the floor again.

"Hey...I...think they're trying a different...tack," Tim said in between gasps.

Gibbs knelt down and rolled Tim onto his back. He was now sporting a black eye, but no other obvious wounds...which told Gibbs that they must have done the most damage elsewhere.

"You ready for me to move you?"

Tim shook his head. "Just...leave me here for a bit...okay?"

"Sure."

"This...happen to you?"

"Occasionally."

"Maybe...it's a good thing I...never got...what I wanted."

"Why do you say that?"

Tim smiled weakly. "I'm not really...the get-beat-up type. It really hurts."

"It hurts everyone, McGee. No one likes it."

"Yeah, well..."

"Well, nothing. Don't start trying to use this as another way of putting yourself down. I'm getting sick of it."

Tim laughed and then groaned.

"I think...I think...my price has gone up, Gibbs."

Gibbs looked at Tim in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I...had a thought."

"What?"

"Did you notice...how few people there were when they took you into that room?"

"Not many."

"...but everyone knows that...that Cumberland is a stronghold for these guys. ...but it's almost empty. Something's happened and no one realizes it...because they don't have the manpower to take it on...they think."

"Okay. I'm with you so far."

Tim opened his eyes. "That's what this is about."

"What?"

"They're trying to...make themselves indispensable by...by getting control of the Observer system. If they can do that..."

"They can name their price," Gibbs finished.

"Yeah. And they'll sell it to the highest bidder and it'll..."

"...be a pretty heavy blow on law enforcement."

"Exactly. My price has gone a _lot_ higher."

"Any ideas about how to get help, then?"

"Maybe."

"Really?"

"I don't know if it'll work."

"Tell me."

"I might be able to...to link your com to...your team."

"How?"

Tim closed his eyes tightly, wincing and then he opened them again.

"I think...I think I'm ready to get on the cot again."

"Okay." Gibbs carefully helped Tim up, noting where his breathing sped up because of the pain. Then, he equally carefully lowered Tim onto the cot. It wasn't soft but it was better than nothing.

"So...So did you ever think it odd that I linked your agents directly to your com rather than through your regular radios?"

Gibbs thought about it and then laughed. "Not until just now."

"Good. You weren't supposed to think about it...because I...wasn't supposed to do it. I manipulated the coding so that I could do that. Only I could, but it could be done. I wasn't trying to be sneaky. It was just a lot faster and safer than using the radios. Now...I don't know if I can do it without my equipment, but if I can..."

"We can call out."

Tim nodded. "You want me to try it?"

"Not right now. You rest for a while. Then, we can try it."

It was a testament to how much Tim was hurting that he didn't protest.

"Okay," he said weakly and closed his eyes.

It took only minutes before he was out like a light. Gibbs was actually exulting inside. If this worked, that would increase their chances of survival exponentially. He was already formulating a plan.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"It's funny how automatic it becomes," Tim whispered into the silence of the cell.

"What?"

"It's just becomes so easy."

"What does?"

"Believing what they want you to believe...about yourself."

Tim didn't look anywhere. He wasn't moving. He was just speaking into the silence.

"I've been an Observer for ten years."

Gibbs said nothing...but Tim wasn't asking for input really.

"I've given up...so much to do it...to be good at my job...to protect people I've admired more than anyone else in my life...except for my dad." Tim laughed a little. "I just wanted to help, to be of some...use to someone...and the only way I could find to do that was to accept that I wasn't worth anything at all if I made a mistake...because mistakes lead to people dying. So you set aside what you want for yourself and make almost your entire life focused only on...on others. And I told myself that police officers do the same thing, soldiers...everyone. ...but there's a difference, isn't there."

Silence.

"Police officers, fire fighters...soldiers...Marines...they don't have to think of themselves as worthless. They just have to put others first, and even then, it's only when it's necessary. It's not every minute of every day."

"It can be," Gibbs said softly.

"But it's not every second of your life. That's what the Observers ask of you. ...and to their credit, they tell you that in advance...but how can you really know and understand what that means until it's...it's happening? How can you really know what it means to place no value or importance on anything that you yourself want to do...until that's your whole life? ...but at the same time, when I started this...I pretty much felt that way already."

"Why?"

"I couldn't accept what had become of my life. I couldn't accept that I was going to be crippled forever. I'd been going back to my doctor over and over, _begging_ him to find something that would give me a miracle. Nothing ever happened. Nothing ever worked. I was going to be a cripple for life...and...the way I was thinking back then, it meant that my life was useless. What good could I do as a nerdy cripple?"

Another long silence.

"After I got the job as an Observer, I stopped going to my doctor, stopped asking for miracles. I realized that I wasn't going to get the miracle and at least now I was doing something worthwhile. If that meant I couldn't have anything of my own, couldn't form any real attachments...who cared about that? It didn't matter. All that mattered was having a purpose."

Tim took a deep breath and winced at the pull against his bruised and battered body.

"And I've lost that purpose now. What am I going to do...even if we do get out of here alive? What can I do, Gibbs? What good am I? I've been just a voice...a trusted voice and now what am I? ...just a guy in a wheelchair. What do I put in place of that?"

"Why do you need to put _anything_ there?"

"Because I can't just sit around. I can't...do nothing. There's too much that's wrong in this country, in the world. I can't be the guy who laments what's happening without doing something about it."

"Then, do something about it."

"What? Sit at a computer and crunch numbers? At least as an Observer, I could...know that I was helping. I never wanted to be just a computer guy."

Silence.

Tim took a deep breath and pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt all the bruises. Gibbs was sitting on the floor looking at him.

"Why didn't you ever try NCIS? Really, McGee. Why?"

Tim looked at Gibbs and then looked out the barred window.

"Why?"

"I wasn't good enough."

"Says who?"

"Me. I respect NCIS too much to try and...put myself out there."

"Why don't you just apply and let them decide?"

"Because I didn't think I could be happy with the dregs."

"You _didn't_?"

Tim smiled a little. "Yeah...past tense."

"So now?"

"I don't know. I don't want to hope for something that won't happen."

Gibbs met Tim's gaze for a long moment and then he seemed to make a decision.

"Let's see if we can contact someone."

"Okay. Come on over and let me see if I can activate your com."

As Gibbs got up, Tim felt compelled to put out a disclaimer.

"I don't know if I can do this, Gibbs. I've never tried it before...and it may not work."

"Won't know if you don't try."

"I know that."

"Then, try, McGee. Stop thinking of reasons not to."

Gibbs sat down on the floor and Tim stared at the com installed behind his ear. Even if they did both get free, Tim knew that his one regret would not be losing his job as an Observer. It would be losing his job as _Gibbs'_ Observer. Gibbs had been one of his few constant contacts for the last eight years. What was he going to do without that interaction?

Tim didn't express that anxiety, however. He just leaned over and removed the back of Gibbs' com to see if he could figure out a way to activate the code he'd inserted into the program.

"What if I can't get it to work?"

"We'll deal with it. Just try, McGee."

"Right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony sighed as he sat in Tim's apartment while Abby looked through the computer equipment, seeing if there was anything that would give them a leg up in rescuing...both men. Thinking of rescuing Tim was still an afterthought for Tony, and it gave him a feeling of a bit of shame to know that he cared so little about another human being...simply because he'd only been a voice before.

"Abbs, how much longer will this take?"

"As long as it takes, Tony! This whole computer is so heavily encrypted it could take days!"

"Why don't we just..."

"We can't move back to NCIS because of satellite links! Just be patient!" Abby said irritably and turned back to her work.

Tony groaned and pulled out his phone. He dialed Ziva's number...

...but it didn't go to Ziva.

"_Good. Tony, it's Gibbs."_

"Boss?"

Abby spun around in her chair.

"_Don't talk. We don't have much time. McGee doesn't know how long we'll have until they notice we're broadcasting."_

"Okay. What's going on?"

"_We're in Cumberland and we're planning on getting out within the next 24 hours, but we'll need to have someone close by to pick us up. McGee can't..."_

"...walk much. Yeah, we know. We found his apartment. He's friends with Abby."

"_I know. So...we'll get out, but you'll need to be there to get us."_

"When?"

"_Get here as soon as you can. Our timing is flexible. Tell Vance that they have a skeleton crew here at best. It's not very..."_ Gibbs broke off for a second. _"...just tell him that if they want to take Cumberland back, now is the time. We've seen ten people here so far. Most of it is empty. If they can get in, they can take the facility back. May not matter much in the short run, but it'll look good."_

"Ziva and I will be there...watching for you. You sure you'll make it?"

"_No. If we're not out within 24 hours, we're not getting out...so send in someone to take back the facility anyway."_

"Got it, Boss. How did you–?"

"_I've got my Observer with me."_

Tony could almost hear Gibbs grinning.

"Boss...what are you–?"

There was a click and Gibbs' voice cut out.

"Boss? Boss?"

"Tony! What's going on?" Abby asked.

"Close up shop, Abbs. Gibbs has a plan for getting out and we've got to get up to Cumberland as fast as we can."

"But..."

"Come on, Abby! I've got to report to Vance, too. Let's go!"

Abby quickly locked down the computer again and then the two of them hurried out, Abby calling Ziva to get her back to NCIS as well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was, quite frankly, surprised that it had worked. He had managed to get the connection, but it wouldn't work unless there was a live signal on Tony's phone...and they couldn't keep the com open the whole time. So they had checked every few minutes to see if there was signal and then suddenly had succeeded. Tim hadn't thought it was going to be possible.

He was wrong. After Gibbs disconnected, he looked at Tim with a piercing stare. They'd both been almost whispering. Neither of them could find any sign of observation, but they didn't want to risk it.

"So they'll be there," Tim said in a low voice. "Will we?"

"Have you ever killed anyone, McGee? Actually killed someone?"

"No. Never."

"Could you?"

"I take it this isn't a rhetorical question?"

"No, it's not."

"People here?" Tim asked. "Yeah. I think I could...but not with my bare hands. I'd need a weapon...and I don't see any in the cell."

"That's because you don't know where to look." Gibbs reached back and drew out a knife.

Tim's eyes widened.

"How did you–?"

"Rule number nine."

Tim furrowed his brow. "What?"

"_My_ rule number nine."

"What's that?"

"Never go anywhere without your knife."

"You're serious?"

"Definitely."

"How did they not find it?"

"Even criminals can mess up sometimes, McGee."

Tim smiled...but then went solemn. "That's what you want me to use?"

"Yeah. Can you do it?"

"I've never stabbed someone."

"It's not hard to do, but remember two things."

"What?"

"You can't pull back once you've started. You stab someone and you have to do it as hard as you can. No second guessing yourself. And don't leave the knife in the body. Stab in and pull it out as fast as you can. If you leave it in the body, you'll be giving him a possible weapon against you. There are very few places you can stab someone where they'll die instantly."

Tim licked his lips nervously and looked at the knife. "Do _you_ think I can do this? I'm a computer geek, Gibbs. I...I'm a cripple. I'm not..."

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you were capable."

"Why me? Why not you?"

"Because every time they come into the cell, they tell me to stand back. Only one guy came for you last time. They don't think you're a threat. They think you're as worthless as _you _think you are. When they pick you up to take you out again..."

"I take them out." Tim swallowed. "What does it feel like?"

"Impossible to describe, McGee. Just don't enjoy it. That's the dangerous part."

"Okay."

Gibbs came over and handed the knife to Tim. Tim stared at it. Although he'd dreamed of being an agent, actually killing someone had never been a part of that dream.

Dream or not, that was going to be a part of his near future.

"When they come, we go."

"And after I kill him? If I manage it?"

"You try to stay upright, push him away from you so he doesn't drag you down."

"And then?"

"Then, we escape," Gibbs said with a smile.

"Can I have the details?"

"Sure."

Sitting close beside him, Gibbs laid out the plan he'd made. Tim listened and could only hope that it worked out.

It seemed like a very long shot.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"_Any sign yet?"_

"None, Director," Tony said. "Ziva's on recon right now, seeing if she can determine where there's life, but right now, I have to say that a lot of the place looks completely deserted. This isn't the stronghold we thought it was."

"_Well, I've got FBI support...but _only_ if Gibbs gets out alive. If we don't get any sign of him, they won't move, but they're ready to take back the prison if they get the sign."_

"Nice."

"_They're hurting like the rest of us, Agent DiNozzo,"_ Vance said. _"It's too much of a risk to plan a takedown if they can't have _some_ indication of success."_

"Maybe if we started taking a few more risks, we wouldn't have this crime war on our hands."

"_Maybe. Maybe not. You just focus on getting Gibbs back...and his Observer."_

"Yes, sir." Tony disconnected and then sighed. They were all afflicted with the same problem. Even though they now knew who Tim was and that he was with Gibbs, Gibbs was still the one they thought of first. Tim was merely an afterthought. Tony figured it was probably because, except for Abby, none of them had ever met Tim before. He was just a voice to them.

Another few minutes passed and Ziva returned.

"Well?" Tony asked.

"I cannot see that there is any other way Gibbs could get out without going through the main entrance, particularly not with someone who is unable to walk."

"Any sign of where they are?"

"It must be in the main complex. All the outlying buildings appear to be completely empty, most for years."

"Figures. We've been way too focused on the cities. Places like this...we could probably take them back with next to no effort but we don't even pay attention anymore."

"True, but we are stretched to our limits. Taking this prison back will be a symbol, nothing more."

"Symbols are important, Ziva. It shows both the people _and_ the criminals that we aren't weak. We're pandering to public opinion. Every state of the union address for the last ten years has been about how much work it is to get control of the crime rate and how hard the police are working to do it...and it's because the public thinks we can't hack it anymore. At least if we got this place back, we'd have something concrete to show them."

"Literally," Ziva said with a smile.

Tony groaned. "No, no, please. No puns, Ziva! I think I liked it better when you didn't get stuff like that!"

Ziva grinned and peered through the trees at the prison.

"See anything?"

"Not yet."

"How long has it been?"

"Ten hours since Gibbs called you. We have a lot of time left."

"Yeah...but is it enough?"

"That does not depend on us. It depends upon Gibbs."

"...and McGee."

"Yes. And McGee."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Why haven't they come yet?" Tim asked quietly. As the time lengthened, he had more and more time to think about what he was going to have to do...something he really didn't _want_ to do. "What if they _were_ monitoring and they know what the plan is? What if–?"

"Patience, McGee," Gibbs said. "You can't be this worried when they show up."

"I won't be. I can be calm when I have to, but...but why have they delayed so long?"

"Preparing the room for you?"

Tim rolled his eyes.

"What if I can't do what you need me to do? Even if I can kill this guy...what if I can't open the doors? Your plan depends too much on what I might be able to do."

"You can do it."

"Gibbs, how can you possibly know that? You can't know that. _I_ don't know it...and I know the kinds of things I can do!"

"Then, have a little faith in yourself, McGee."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know anything about computers, but I have no doubt that you can manage this. You know a lot more than I do."

"That doesn't follow. It's not logical."

Gibbs chuckled. "Yeah, well, that shouldn't surprise you."

"Stand at the back of the cell, fed!"

Tim tensed and looked at Gibbs for just a moment as he stood up and then he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He forced his body to loosen up. The only thing he couldn't control was his heart thumping in his chest. Hopefully, the guy would chalk it up to fear for what they were going to do to him. He clenched his hand around the knife, hidden securely in his waistband.

Gibbs just nodded at him and then faced forward as the man came over and opened the cell door.

"Enjoying your time in the box, fed?" the man sneered. "You're always so set on getting guys like me in boxes like this. How do you like it?"

Gibbs smiled. "I'd prefer to see you in another kind of box...six feet under."

The man flushed angrily and then forced a smile. "You first."

"That's what you think."

"Big talk," the man said and grabbed Tim, pulling him toward the doorway.

For Tim, time seemed to slow to a crawl as he looked up at the man holding him and then began to reach for the knife.

_No second guessing. No thinking twice. Just do it, Tim._

Then, instead of slowing down, time sped up to double time as Tim forced his legs under him, pulled the knife out and stabbed at the man. He hadn't planned in advance where he'd strike...but as the knife flew, somehow, Tim made a decision and didn't secondguess himself. He stabbed...

...right at the neck. In...twist...out...and Tim stared into the man's eyes as they widened in surprise and shock. No scream...just a sickening burble as he tried to breathe through his severed windpipe. Tim pushed him weakly away, the knife clenched tightly in his hand, blood covering it...and spreading as the man slid down to the floor. From some other world, it seemed, Gibbs appeared and pulled the swiftly-dying man into the cell. Then, he grabbed Tim around the waist and pulled him quickly along.

Tim tried to engage his mind on the escape, but he couldn't seem to think of anything but the feeling of stabbing that knife into the man's throat...and then the sound of the man dying. He was dead now. It wouldn't have taken long. Dying without a scream...without anyone there.

_...and his blood is on my hands...literally._ A hiccup of laughter escaped from Tim's lips.

Gibbs said nothing. He just ran. Tim could only get his legs to move in a parody of walking. He wasn't really doing anything, but Gibbs was moving fast.

Down the stairs and through the hall to the main entrance. The doors were electronically-locked.

"McGee. Your turn."

Tim looked at Gibbs stupidly for a moment, unable to grasp the meaning of the words he had said.

Then, from out of nowhere...

_Thwack!_

"Focus, McGee! I need you to open the doors!"

Tim winced at the pain the swat had added to his headache, but it did snap him out of his shock. Gibbs took the knife from him and took up a watch. Tim knew he didn't have much time before their escape would be discovered. He was surprised it hadn't been already. He looked at the panel and began to type...his bloody fingers slipping over the keys.

He tried once.

Failed.

He tried again.

Failed.

A third time.

"Come on, McGee."

A distant voice.

"_They're gone! Jerry's dead!"_

"Now, McGee! Now!"

Tim typed frantically, trying to break through the codes...and got it.

A loud beeping signaled the unlocking of the doors.

Gibbs didn't wait. He grabbed Tim, thrust the knife back into his hand and began to run, Tim trying to help.

Out of the building...and into the open. No cover. None. Only high fences along a narrow strip of asphalt. The gates were opening and they began to run.

A shout from behind them stirred Gibbs to go faster. He said nothing, his whole focus on getting away.

"We're not..."

"Don't say it, McGee," Gibbs snapped. "Just move as much as you can."

To the gates...and the bullets started flying. They were too far away to hit them...for the moment.

They were halfway to the last gate which was slowly rattling open in response to Tim's hacking the computer system in the prison.

Tim looked back over his shoulder and saw a rifle. That would reach them. He used his weight to pull Gibbs to the ground.

"McGee! What are you–?"

Two bullets...sounding like they'd gone right over their heads.

"Gun," Tim panted. Even though he wasn't doing a lot of the work, he was tired. He didn't know why. Weak, probably.

"Thanks. Can't stop. Get up."

"But..."

"No. We can't stop. Go."

Gibbs grabbed Tim and got to his feet again. They ran, Tim mostly only able to propel them forward. He could press his feet against the ground even if he couldn't actually do any of the walking.

Then, they were through the gate, out of the prison. ...but they couldn't stop because pursuit was behind them. The bullets still flying.

Then, there were bullets coming from the other direction.

"Boss! Over here!"

Tim lifted his head for a moment and saw two people standing just out of sight in the trees surrounding the prison.

Gibbs changed his trajectory slightly and headed across the road and into the grass. This was where Tim knew he'd slow them down.

"Gibbs...can't..."

"Yes, you can, McGee. Shut up."

"Ziva, cover us!"

Another hand moved around Tim's waist and joined Gibbs in pulling him along through the tangle of grass and twigs and bushes.

"I got him, Boss."

"Two's easier than one, Tony," Gibbs said and didn't let Tim go.

Tim heard more bullets and felt his energy swiftly ebbing away. It shouldn't be. He wasn't really doing any work...not anymore.

"They are falling back for the moment," Ziva said.

"Good."

"We have to cross a creek, Boss," Tony said. "It's pretty mucky on the bottom."

"We'll make it."

"I can't swim," Tim said, rather unnecessarily.

"We'll get you there, never fear," Tony said.

They hurried through the trees. It was maybe 200 feet, but Tim felt as though it was 200 miles. He was _trying_ to move his legs, but it was getting harder and harder to do so and his brain felt like it weighed a ton.

Then, came the creek. Ziva shot back behind her twice more and then moved down into the water. It came to her knees. Tony knelt down and helped Tim...fall into the creek. Ziva caught him although she grunted with the effort. Gibbs jumped down quickly and grabbed Tim again. Tony fired back through the trees and then jumped down as well. They struggled through the water. Tim couldn't even _try_ to get through this. His reserves were spent.

Ziva clambered up the opposite bank, vanished from sight for a few seconds and then reappeared with a high-powered rifle in her hands. She knelt down and covered them again.

"Okay, McGee. Here's where you've got to help us."

Tim looked at the bank. It wasn't very high.

It might as well have been Mount Everest. He shook his head.

"...can't..."

"Tony, get up there."

Tony climbed up and out and then waited.

Gibbs looked Tim in the eye.

"You _can_ do this, McGee. You've made it all the way. Just a little more to go. You have the ability. You just have to dig down and find it."

Tim wanted to cry.

"I'll push you up. Tony will pull...but you have to help us. Got it?"

Tim knew Gibbs wouldn't leave him here, even if he asked him to do it. Gibbs would be gone already if he hadn't been so determined to get Tim out as well. Tim straightened and forced himself to stand upright. He couldn't do it for long, but he stood up and reached out for Tony's hand.

"Gotcha," Tony said and began to pull. Gibbs pushed and Tim tried to get his legs to do what was required of them.

"Good."

Then, Tim was lying on the opposite bank and Gibbs was up.

"Three down, more coming," Ziva reported.

"Leave it, Ziva," Gibbs said. "Into the car."

Ziva nodded and headed for the driver's seat while Tony dragged Tim to the open door.

"In you go."

Tim managed to get himself into a sitting position by the time Gibbs ran around to the opposite side and got in. Tony headed for the front passenger door and then, they were off.

Free.

Tony looked back at Tim for a few seconds and then Gibbs smiled.

"Tony, Ziva...this is Tim McGee...my Observer."

Tony smiled. "Nice to meet you, McGee. So you really _are_ more than a voice."

Tim tried to smile but that seemed to take strength he didn't have. He managed a slight upturning of his lips.

"...tired..."

"Sleep, McGee. We're out."

Tim nodded and closed his eyes, his head falling back against the headrest. Then, he gave into his exhaustion and pain and slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He all right, Boss?" Tony asked.

"He's going to need a hospital, but no life-threatening injuries."

"And you?" Ziva asked as she tore down the road at a breakneck pace.

"They clocked me, but I'm fine."

"So...that's McGee. Where'd all the blood come from?"

"The man he killed."

"Wow."

"What did they want, Gibbs?"

"Access to the Observer system. I was just an afterthought...a chance to torment the police a little more."

"Nice."

"Tony, you should tell Vance."

"Right. We've got the cavalry on standby to take Cumberland back."

"Good. About time we bothered."

"Yeah." Tony pulled out his phone and then looked back at Tim. "He looks pretty bad, Boss. What did they do to him?"

"A lot...but he'll be all right."

"Do we inform the Observers?"

"No. He said that he'd have been replaced already. I don't see any reason to let them know that he's safe."

"All right. Abby was pretty shocked."

"I'm sure."

Silence fell and then Tony looked back at Gibbs one more time.

"I'm glad you're okay, Boss."

"Me, too. We both are."

"Yeah...both of you."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tim woke up and the car was still moving.

"Where are we?" he mumbled.

"Almost to Bethesda. You didn't sleep very long, McGee."

Tim sat up and looked around, out the windows. Then, he looked down at himself. ...covered in blood still, the blood of the man he'd killed. He started to rub at his hands, trying to get it off him. His hands were trembling slightly...as they had for years. It wasn't a hindrance to anything he did. If he had wanted to be a surgeon or a sniper, he supposed that it would be a problem, but it never had held him back on the computer. ...but now those trembling hands were covered in blood. He didn't like having another man's blood on him. He didn't like it at all.

"McGee?"

That wasn't Gibbs speaking. In fact, Gibbs was asleep. It hadn't been him before. Tim looked up at Tony who was watching him.

"Nice to m-meet you, Agent DiNozzo."

"Don't bother with the "Agent" stuff. Just Tony will do."

Tim nodded and kept rubbing at his hands. The blood seemed to be dried inside all the grooves on his fingers, every whorl.

"McGee?"

Same calm, patient voice. Tim looked up again.

"Yeah?"

"You feeling all right? That looks like a nasty burn on your head."

"Fine. It's fine." He returned to his rubbing.

"Right. Just like Gibbs was so fine that he fell asleep almost instantly." Tony smiled at Ziva and then looked at Tim again. "We were going to stop at a hospital closer, but Gibbs said it would be better just to keep going. Bethesda is the best there is around here."

Another nod. Tim started picking at his nails, trying to get the blood out of them.

"McGee?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop it."

Tim looked at Tony and then down at his hands.

"It's blood," he said unnecessarily. "I don't like it...b-b-being on me."

"I know. No one likes having blood on them...well, most people don't like having blood on them. ...you can wash it off soon. Just keep calm about it. Don't worry that it'll never come off. It will. ...maybe not out of your clothes, but the rest of it will come out."

"I killed a man."

"Sometimes that it is necessary," Ziva said, speaking for the first time. "That man was your captor. He would not have hesitated to do the same to you. Do not waste time feeling guilt about his death."

Tim could see that Ziva thought she was helping. She wasn't. He started digging under his thumbnail. A hand covered his. Tim looked over and saw Gibbs looking at him. He just shook his head.

"It'll be all right, McGee," he said softly.

Tim looked at him and then a stabbing pain lanced through his head, centered, of course, on the left side of his head where his com was located. The only positive thing about the pain was that it distracted him from the blood on his hands.

"We're almost there."

"Okay," Tim said and closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to stave off the pain.

When they arrived at Bethesda, Tim was taken back instantly and given an examination of the possible damage done to his brain from the shock. In addition, they checked the rest of him for any internal injuries. The pain was bad enough that they gave him an analgesic...which instantly knocked him out...for which Tim was grateful. Sleep was what he wanted.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He could hear voices...voices talking about him.

"Agent Gibbs, I won't do that without a verbal agreement from my patient."

"He already agreed."

"Not to me, he hasn't. I'll fix what needs fixing from what happened to him...but any more than that will have to get approval from _him_. ...especially an Observer."

"He's not an Observer anymore."

"That is also something that needs to be verified. He still has the com."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh when he felt the pain.

"McGee?"

He cracked open his eyes. "Not a dream, huh?"

Gibbs was smiling at him. "No, not a dream."

"Good...I think."

"You remember our deal?"

Tim blinked a few times and then sighed.

"Should I give you a chance to talk?"

Tim squinted and saw a doctor with a tolerant, if slightly exasperated smile on his lips looking at him.

"Sure," he mumbled.

"All right." The doctor withdrew discreetly and Tim looked at Gibbs.

"We made a deal, McGee."

"Why are you doing this, Gibbs?" Tim asked. "Why bother? I don't want..."

"Stop saying what you don't want. You don't want to be disappointed. I don't blame you, but take a chance. Everything I've seen tells me that you don't know the whole story about why you can't walk."

"And since when do _you_ have a medical degree?" Tim asked, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as Gibbs tried to force him to hope again.

Gibbs smiled. "Never. Maybe there's nothing, but if you took the time to think about it, you'd see the same thing...it doesn't add up."

"I don't care!" Tim said and looked down at his hands. They were clean now...almost. He could still see some blood in the cracks. He started picking at it. No more blood.

"Why are you doing this, Gibbs? And don't say it's for me. I know it's not really for me. It's for you."

"No, it's not. I owe you."

"No, you don't...and even if you did, this wouldn't be the way to repay it."

"Yes, I do. Eight years' worth."

"It was my _job_! I got paid for it."

"Did you get paid for giving up your family to help me?"

Tim looked up at the ceiling and then back down at his hands.

"No, but I got paid my salary and you don't owe me anything."

"You killed a man today."

"I know...and it was to get me out."

"No, McGee. You and I both know that it was to get _me_ out that you did it. Not for yourself."

Tim closed his eyes. "I didn't enjoy it."

"I can tell."

"I hated it."

"I know. Why did you go for the neck?"

"It was logical."

"In what way?"

"We didn't want him to alert anyone. If I severed his vocal cords or his windpipe, he'd be less likely to be able to make any noise...besides...that...awful...that sound...and the blood." Tim shook his head. "I killed someone today. Other than some wrestling in high school...I didn't...ever... I'm not a...a pacifist or anything...I just..."

"Tim?"

Tim started working at his thumbnail. "It just...gets everywhere, doesn't it."

"Tim."

"When I was young, I used to believe that myth people tell you...you know...that blood is blue until it hits the open air and then it turns red." Tim laughed a little. "But it's not true. Blood is always red. Always." He rubbed at his thumb a bit harder. "And when it starts to dry, it gets sticky. That's something they never tell you in school."

"Tim!"

Tim just shook his head. "One thing is clear, at least."

"What?"

"I'd never have cut it as an agent. I fall apart at the littlest things. I couldn't even climb out of a creek...and right now, when there's so much else to think and...and _worry_ about, all I care about is the fact that I can't...can't..." Tim clenched his teeth and took a trembling breath. "...can't get this blood off."

"Tim, you're wrong."

Gibbs might as well not have spoken it seemed.

Tim laughed again. "You ever read _Macbeth_? You know...Lady Macbeth in her dreams, starts to sleepwalk and then she talks. 'Out, damned spot!' She's galvanized by her conscience because of the murders she's instigated. I could echo her more than once." Another shaky laugh. "'Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.' She was talking about the king, of course...not some nameless criminal. ...but he wasn't nameless, was he. They said his name."

"He would have killed either of us without a thought, Tim. That's what he _wanted_ to do."

"No...I'm not wrong," Tim said...answering Gibbs previous statement. He stared at his hands, at the blood still lodged in his cuticles and nail beds. "What kind of a person falls apart because of a little blood? No one. Weaklings. Like me. Can you imagine...if I had killed someone as an agent? I probably would have beat myself up for ages...even if the guy was pulling a gun on me. Wouldn't matter. I killed a man who...who wasn't even armed."

Gibbs was silent now. Not that it mattered. Tim wasn't listening to him anyway.

"I stabbed him. I didn't stop to think. I just did it. ...and now, I can't think of anything else. He probably never even considered the possibility of dying at the hands of a cripple like me. ...a cripple like me. ...it's crazy. And he's dead...and I killed him. It was so...awful, how it felt to...to do that."

A moment of silence as Tim continued to try to get rid of the blood on his hands.

"You finished, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Sure, why not?"

"You ready to listen to me?"

"Depends on what you're going to say. You know how to get this...this blood off me?"

"Yeah. It just takes a few soakings. It'll come out. Don't worry. That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then, what?"

"First, you're not weak for hating to kill someone. You've never been trained to do it, never been trained to expect it. Believe it or not, no officer likes to kill the first time. If they do...they shouldn't be in law enforcement. ...and stabbing someone to death is a lot harder than just shooting them. When you stab someone, it's a lot more intimate and real than pulling a trigger is. So...don't think you're weak for hating it, for being bothered by it."

Tim wouldn't look up at him. He almost longed for the impersonal interactions of the Observer com because then he didn't have to look Gibbs in the eye.

"Second, stop thinking of yourself as a cripple."

Tim snorted.

"Right." He held up his hand and showed the slight tremor. "See that? It's always like that. I can't walk...and you found that out. What would _you_ call me?"

"A man."

"Nice. And it's all very touching, Gibbs, but it's not going to fly," Tim said, still picking at his fingers. "There is _nothing_ that says I have to put on the rose-colored glasses now."

Gibbs laughed and Tim looked up and glared at him.

"What?"

"You want those rose-colored glasses right now. You want them so bad that it hurts."

"What makes you think you know me so well?"

"Because, your hands might be shaking because of whatever happened, but your body language is asking to be convinced that it's not nothing."

"I can't afford it," Tim said in a last-ditch effort to avoid it. "I got fired. The com doesn't work anymore. I don't have a job. That means I have no insurance."

"You're not paying. I am."

"No. You can't!" Tim protested. "You don't owe me that!"

"Doesn't matter whether you think I do or not. I'm doing it for you."

Tim looked down and then he looked up and was embarrassed that there were tears in his eyes.

"T-T-Tell me...it's...it's n-n-not n-n-nothing, Gibbs."

Gibbs sat down on the bed.

"I'm not going to promise you miracles, McGee. I'm not going to pretend that I'm going to fix everything. ...but I'm almost positive that there's more to your disability than you think there is. I trust this guy and he'll tell it to you straight."

"Is it nothing?" Tim asked.

"No. It's not nothing. I just don't know what it is."

"I...I m-m-made a d-d-d-deal with you."

"But if you're going to insist, I won't hold you to it."

Tim looked up at him and the tears fell down his cheeks...but he laughed.

"S-S-Sure...t-t-t-tell me that n-n-now."

Gibbs grinned.

"Want me to get the doc?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Gibbs got up and walked to the door. "He's ready."

The doctor came in and smiled at Tim. "Well, Mr. McGee, let's talk about what needs to be done. I'm Dr. Barter."

"Nice to meet you."

"Okay, down to business."

"Okay," Tim looked up and then away.

"I'm really quite amazed that you didn't suffer more ill effects from the electric shock. There must be some sort of a buffer in that com because your brain should have been fried."

"Good to know."

"Now, what we're probably going to need to do in order to evaluate your motor skills is to do some physical tests and then a series of scans to determine what's going on in your cerebellum."

"What do you mean?"

"They examined your cerebellum before didn't they?"

"Not to my knowledge. I got a scan after the accident to make sure there was no bleeding. They were trying physical therapy after that."

"No tests on brain function?"

"No."

"Okay. I haven't been able to get a hold of your medical file just yet; so we'll do what we can. We might need to do some exploratory surgery. One other decision you need to make."

"What?"

"Do you want me to remove that com? Agent Gibbs told me that you'd been fired. The surgery is simple and I can do it if you'd like. ...but if you want to have the Observers do it, that's fine."

"No point in waiting, I guess. T-T-Take it out."

"Okay. We'll get everything scheduled. Just relax and we'll get going."

"Right."

"By the way, what was your doctor's name?"

"Ethan Daniels."

"Okay. Sit back and enjoy having nothing to do for a while."

"Haven't had that in years."

"It's a weird sensation."

Tim smiled a little.

Dr. Barter left and Gibbs looked at Tim once more.

"It's going to be all right, McGee."

"Sure."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Ziva invited Tony and Abby over to her house for dinner after the hubbub died down a bit. The FBI had stormed Cumberland and taken it back with ease and no loss of life on their side. Only twenty criminals had been inside, and they were nothing to hold back the tide. Of course, they couldn't use it as a prison just yet. It had to be completely renovated, but that didn't matter so much. It was front-page news. A major law enforcement success. ...but that wasn't what was occupying the attention of a small subset of the NCIS employees.

"So..." Tony began eloquently about midway through dinner.

Ziva laughed. "He was not what I was expecting, either," she said.

"I still can't believe that Tim was Gibbs' Observer all this time and never said anything to me!" Abby said, leaning back in her chair.

"Abby, it was his job. He was not allowed!"

"Yes, but couldn't he have told me _something_? I don't like that he was lying to me!"

"I don't think he was actively lying to you, Abbs," Tony said. "But you know what? I'd never have believed that he was Gibbs' Observer. He doesn't seem..."

"Strong enough," Ziva said. "He seems...I do not know how to explain it. ...unfinished, maybe."

"I guess Gibbs is sure of him...and that was his apartment we were in. ...but man, I wouldn't have guessed a computer nerd being his Observer."

"And in a wheelchair," Ziva added. "I know that it makes no difference to his ability to advise Gibbs and help him, but I just did not expect it."

"He was really bugged by having killed that guy," Tony said and then smiled. "I'd like to talk to him when he's _not _half-passing out from whatever they did to him. We hardly got a good glimpse of him in the middle of an escape from prison."

"He's going to be okay, though, right?" Abby asked.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said. "You should go and see him, actually. I'm sure he'd like a visit from someone besides Gibbs. I mean, it's got to be weird for _him _actually dealing with the Boss face to face. You'd be a lot better."

Ziva smiled. "Yes. A friendly face?"

"I don't know what to say to him anymore," Abby confessed. "It's just so weird. It's like he's a whole different person!"

"He is no different, Abby. It is just that you know more about him now than you did before."

"_I_ think I'm going to have a hard time remembering that he's a whole person and not just a voice in Gibbs' head. It's weird that he's always been this guy."

Ziva nodded in agreement. "Yes, the first time he spoke, I had to remind myself that he was actually in the backseat...and not just on the phone."

Tony laughed...but then, he sobered. "What do you think that was like for him? ...not actually seeing any of us...only being a voice. That's...that's got to be trippy."

"Probably not as much as no longer being a voice," Ziva said. "When he recovers...what will he be? He has lost his job. What else can he do?"

"Hey!" Abby protested. "Tim can do a _lot_! He's got lots of education and he's a genius with computers! Just because he's lost one job here doesn't mean he has no other skills! He has lots of options!"

"And yet...he chose to become an Observer. What options did he give up, Abby?" Ziva asked. "If he thought other options were good ideas, why did he not take them?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three days later..._

"Agent Gibbs, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Gibbs paused in his walk down the hall.

"Sure. What is it?"

"In my office, please."

Gibbs followed Dr. Barter curiously. He was expecting that he would have finished his evaluations of Tim's motor ability by now, but Dr. Barter had kept mum on that. The tests of Tim's legs had taken a day by themselves. Then, the CT scan and then...nothing. As Gibbs sat down, he looked at Dr. Barter expectantly. There must be something going on.

"Okay, what is it?" Gibbs asked.

"I've finished my evaluation, finally got a hold of Mr. McGee's medical file...and...since he's listed no contact information in case of emergency, you'll have to do."

"No one? Not even his parents?"

"No one. Most people have at least a friend, but some don't...particularly Observers. That's tangential to what I want to discuss with you, however. The nature of what I've discovered and the situation...it makes it desirable to evaluate the best way to reveal what I've found."

"I don't think you should lie about it."

"It's not about lying. It's about how much information Mr. McGee needs to make a decision, to...to accept what I have to say."

"Okay. What is it?"

"The reason I took longer than usual to get around to this is because I wanted to look into the actions of Mr. McGee's doctor. Ethan Daniels...died last year from cancer, but four years before that, he lost his license to practice medicine."

"Why?"

"Because...and this isn't official. This is something that made the rounds when it happened. You may not be aware, but Bethesda was and still is the premiere location for Observer surgeries and general treatment. It's where Mr. McGee received his com, actually. So when things happen in the Observer world, they tend to...make the rounds here. Ethan Daniels was one of the physicians who was part of the early efforts to expand the Observer program. He was to use his position as a doctor to promote the Observer program when appropriate to those patients he deemed suitable for the program."

"He was paid?"

"Yes. A per capita basis which is strange but not illegal. When we treat people, we often have to give suggestions for future life that will encourage our patients to continue to try and recover. We'll list appropriate occupations that they can still do with whatever injury or permanent disability they may have. The Observer program simply asked to be included when appropriate...but only when appropriate, not with every patient. Daniels, it was discovered, was more than recruiting."

"What was he doing?"

"He was intentionally _not_ pursuing treatments that may have given his patients more options. In Mr. McGee's case, he never once looked into the possibility of damage to the cerebellum when treating him. The reason it wasn't discovered is simple. The first year after the accident that caused Mr. McGee's injuries was understandably focused on the damage to his legs. There was a scan done to ensure no bleeding on the brain from head trauma. None was found and so they went on. Physical therapy failed to give the expected results, but at the time, there was a suspicion of conversion disorder."

"Of what?"

"It's a disorder that manifests as a neurological deficit without a physiological cause."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in question. Dr. Barter smiled.

"Basically, there's no reason for it, but a person will be...paralyzed. Often, it seems to be due to major stressors or psychological trauma in the life of the patient. In this case, Mr. McGee's father was paralyzed and attempted suicide as a result of the accident and it was thought for some time that Mr. McGee's lack of progress was a subconscious reaction to that."

"So he was faking?"

"No. It's not a conscious decision on the part of the patient. He suffers from a genuine physiological reaction to a psychological problem."

"So why is it considered not a possibility now?"

"Because it lasted too long and did not respond to any of the usual treatments. But this was after three years. Now, at no time did Daniels suggest damage to the cerebellum as a possible problem. Then, once Mr. McGee joined the Observer program, he stopped seeing his doctor. In fact, he hasn't been to _any_ medical establishment in the ten years he's been an Observer. Not once. So, he had his years in college for therapy and never received any indication that there was a possibility of increased function."

"You're saying that there is?"

"There's the potential for it. ...and I'd say that the potential is high. My analysis of the CT scan shows focal lesions in the cerebellum which likely have caused Mr. McGee's ataxia. There is a surgery that has shown great success in repairing damage like this...but even at best, it won't bring full functioning."

"How much, then?"

"That depends. What the surgery does is clear away the scar tissue and allow for reproduction of healthy neural cells. We stimulate that growth with stem cell therapy but it's not a panacea at this point, unfortunately."

"Best case?"

"Best case is that Mr. McGee would be able to walk with the aid of a cane only. His balance would improve and he wouldn't require braces in order to stand. He might want to have a wheelchair still, but he'd be able walk again with only minor assistance."

"That's best case?"

"Yes."

"Worst case?"

"If the damage is too deep, then there may be no improvement at all."

"And if something goes wrong?"

Dr. Barter raised an eyebrow.

"He's going to ask," Gibbs said.

"Then, he could lose the function he has now."

"And there's no chance of full recovery?"

"No."

"What if they had done something earlier?"

"I don't know. It's possible with the injury being not so old that more function could have been recovered, but there's really no way of knowing in this case."

Gibbs nodded. It was not what he had hoped to hear. He had to admit that he had hoped for the miracle Tim was convinced he couldn't have. ...but walking without braces? That was a definite improvement. Relying only on a cane to get around? That would give Tim a measure of independence he didn't have currently.

"And you're sure that Daniels did this deliberately?"

"It was either a deliberate concealment or incredible incompetence," Dr. Barter said. "In either case, the result is the same: Mr. McGee, and about five others, did not receive treatment they could have received."

"And the Observers were _okay_ with this?"

"Actually, no. They weren't. They're the ones who started the investigation when it became clear that a larger proportion of Daniels' recommendations were not as fit for the position and that they were more likely to quit early. A look into his methods revealed that he was simply trying to get the bonuses for sending people to the Observers, and it's been shown that people with less to look forward to are more likely to accept the strict rules of the Observer program. So they pushed the investigation and they're the ones who insisted that he lose his license. They also stopped the per capita bonuses for recommendations after the Daniels' cases came out."

"Yeah, they're pillars of integrity," Gibbs said with heavy sarcasm.

Dr. Barter simply shrugged. "They do their jobs and they do them well. Whether you like their methods or not, they're good at what they do. That's really beside the point anyway. How much of this do you want Mr. McGee to know?"

Gibbs sat back.

"I'm not suggesting that I lie to him, but how much will he want to know and how much does he need to know about his former doctor?"

In spite of the time they'd had to talk in the last few days, Gibbs realized that he knew very little about Tim...and he had no idea what would be best for Tim in terms of his immediate future. Gibbs wished that Daniels wasn't dead...so that he could kill him again.

"Well, Agent Gibbs?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby sat, staring at the phone. She'd never met Tim's parents, but she'd found their number. How to tell them that Tim had vanished...been found...and now was in the hospital. He'd told her that they didn't talk much anymore. Maybe he wouldn't want them to be there...

"No, he would. Will they come? Are they mad?" Abby didn't know. Tim hadn't ever told her what had happened.

Jethro whined at her and nudged her hand.

"Okay, Jethro. I'm going to call."

Decision made, Abby pulled out her phone and dialed the number.

"_Hello, McGees'. This is Naomi speaking."_

"Uh...hi. My name is Abby and I'm a friend of Tim's."

"_Abby Sciuto? Oh, Tim has told us about you. He thinks of you as a good friend of his."_

"Oh, so you're _not_ mad at him?"

"_What ever gave you that idea?"_

"I don't know. He just didn't seem to want to talk about you much."

"_Oh. Well...Tim can be like that. What is it that you need, Abby?"_

"I don't..._need_ anything. Um...I'm not sure how to say this."

"_What is it?"_ Now, Naomi sounded concerned.

"Well...Tim is in the hospital right now."

"_What? What happened to him?"_

"Well, a few days ago, he was abducted and..."

"_Abducted? Why didn't anyone tell us?"_

"Well, it was...a...part of his...work? And..."

"_The Observers. You know about it now."_

"_You _know?"

"_Of course. His family are the only ones allowed to know. They have our number. Why didn't they call us?"_

"Because...well...I don't know really why they didn't, but I figured they wouldn't. But Tim got out and he's okay...hurt, but he's okay now...and I thought you should know about it since...since you're his family. He's been pretty upset. I only talked to him a little bit once but he's...I think he could use family around...does that make sense? Can you come?"

"_Of course we can come. What hospital is he in?"_

"Bethesda."

A soft laugh. _"What a coincidence. That's where he was born, too."_

"Really?"

"_Yes. Sam was stationed there for a while after we were married. Now, how did you find out about Tim's job?"_

"Because...no one knew he was missing...until Jethro showed up at my apartment and I got worried. It had already been a couple of days and no one noticed he was gone. I felt so bad about that. Someone should have known!"

"_Yes, you're right. Someone should have. I wish he'd quit that job."_

"He's lost it already. They fired him."

"_What for?"_

"For letting his charge get taken. Gibbs was taken, too, and they broke out together."

"_And they fired him?"_

"Yes."

"_I should be livid at that...but I'm relieved. Sam and I have hated the job and what it did to him...how it changed him. Thank you for calling us, Abby. We'll come as soon as we can. As soon as we can."_

"Okay. Should I tell Tim?"

"_No. He can get weird about stuff like this. We haven't seen him for years...not since Sarah's funeral."_

"What?"

"_Sarah...Tim's sister. She was killed about four years ago. We came to DC for the funeral, but Tim didn't end up able to be there. He got called to work. It caused some strain. ...but we'll get there."_

Abby had no idea what to say to that revelation. Tim's sister had died and she had never even known. "Okay. I'm glad."

"_So am I. We should never have let it come to this. Thank you."_

"You're welcome. Bye."

Abby hung up and sat back...convinced that, no matter the difficulties, it was the right decision to make. Tim needed his family.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Tim looked at Dr. Barter for a few seconds and then looked at Gibbs. He said nothing, but he absently began rubbing at the space behind his left ear...where the Observer com had been and where now there was nothing. It had been removed the day before, and Tim couldn't get used to _not_ having it. It hadn't ever been heavy nor had it been large...but it had been _there_, snugly fitted behind his ear for a decade.

"How did they miss it?" he asked. "How did Dr. Daniels not think to check that? From what you've said, it's a typical procedure. Why did he focus on my legs and then on a psychological disorder? Why didn't he look?"

Dr. Barter looked at Gibbs.

"Why?" Tim asked. "You know or you would have said otherwise. You know. Why?"

"It appears that...that Ethan Daniels deliberately avoided checking for cerebellar lesions."

"Deliberately? Why?"

"Because he wanted you to join the Observer program and he figured you would be less likely to do so if you had more mobility."

Tim felt as though there was a buzzing in his ears as he stared incredulously at Dr. Barter. It was like he'd wandered into some bizarre world where nothing made sense anymore.

"But...but..._why_ would he _care_ if I became an Observer? What difference did it make to him?"

Gibbs leaned forward. "He got a bonus for every person he successfully referred to the program, McGee."

Tim pushed himself up as straight as he could.

"Y-Y-You're telling th-that...that my _doctor_...he...he intentionally kept me...like this...for...for _money_? He kept me in a wheelchair...on braces...he kept me like this...because he wanted _money_?"

"Yes. That's what it looks like. He lost his license five years ago."

Tim leaned forward and tried to figure out what emotion was strongest in him. There were so many swirling around in his head that he couldn't settle on one...couldn't decide how to react to this news, this _impossible_ news. Anger? Horror? Shock? Despair? He had no idea.

He laughed and rubbed at the bandaged space behind his ear again. He stared at his legs which were covered with the blanket. His mouth kept moving but no words came out, no real sounds. Just his mouth moving in reaction to the insanity that had taken over his life. He could possibly walk again...he could _always_ have had the option...his doctor was a crook...he wasn't an Observer anymore... Nothing made sense to him. One part of his life had changed and that seemed to have led to the implosion of everything else.

"Is this better, Agent Gibbs?" Tim asked with another incredulous laugh. "Is this better?"

"Yes, McGee."

"How? How is this better? _How_?"

"You know the truth."

"I never _wanted _to know the truth. I just wanted to live my life as best I could. I didn't want the truth. How does that make my life better? You forced the truth on me. I didn't want it."

Tim wouldn't look up, wouldn't face the two men who had brought him this news. He knew it wasn't their fault. He knew that this had all been done long before he'd known them...but still...

"Mr. McGee, there's no rush on making a decision. If you want some time to think about it, feel free."

"Free," Tim scoffed. "Yeah...feel free."

"I'll come back later."

"Whatever."

There was a sound of the door opening and closing...but Gibbs was still there.

"Go away, Agent Gibbs."

"McGee..."

"No. No, I'm not going to let you talk me into something else that's supposedly _good_ for me. I'm not going to get roped into that again. I don't care how you dress it up. This is not better. That...that doctor...he..." Tim shook his head. "Knowing this is not better. I didn't ask you to make me hope again, Agent Gibbs. I didn't ask for you to do _anything_ for me."

"McGee."

"Go away and stop trying _help_ me, Agent Gibbs. I don't want your help." Tim took a quick breath. "There's no miracle...nothing to hope for. Stop trying to pretend there is."

"There's a _lot_ to hope for, McGee."

"Yeah, says you. Go away."

Gibbs didn't leave. Tim wanted him to go, but he wouldn't leave.

"Go...away."

"No, Tim. I won't do that."

"Why not? That's what I want."

"You don't want that."

"Really? What do I want then?"

"You want to be convinced."

Tim felt tears prick his eyes and he shook his head, rubbing at the empty space behind his ear.

"I'm tired of people telling me to hope." Then, he laughed again. "Funny because no one's tried in years...but I'm tired of it."

The bed shifted as Gibbs sat down on the edge of it. Tim still didn't look up.

"It can get better, Tim."

"How?"

"Dr. Barter explained it all to you."

"Yeah, it could do nothing or it could something...or it could make things worse."

"There'll be improvement."

"You can't know that."

"Why are you so sure that things will go wrong?"

"That's my luck."

"McGee, I want you to think about something. You have a chance, a _real_ chance to walk again, to be more independent. Are you going to give up that chance because you're tired of hoping?"

The weight disappeared off the bed and Tim heard the door open and then close. He looked up and around the empty room. ...and he sighed, but with relief.

He didn't get to stay alone for long, however. Only twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door and then Abby stuck her head inside.

"Hi...Tim."

"Hi, Abby."

"Can I come in?"

"I don't...really feel like having company right now."

"I could get on my computer and communicate through the chat room."

Tim smiled wanly.

"Tim...are you sure you want to be alone?"

Tim debated whether or not he was ready to explain himself. ...and he settled for the easier part to answer.

"Yeah...that's what I'm used to, Abbs." Tim looked over at his wheelchair which they'd brought from his apartment. "Actually, I need to get out of this room." He sat up and maneuvered off the bed. He noticed Abby make a slight movement, as if to help him. "I know how to do this, Abby. I've managed for a lot of years, okay?"

"Sorry, Tim."

Tim shook his head. "No, I just...I need to be alone, please?" He sat down in his wheelchair and rolled over to the door. Abby stood aside and held the door open.

"Thank you, Abby."

"I'm here...if you need me, Tim."

"I know. Thanks."

Tim rolled past her and down the hall. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go, but he just knew that he wanted to get...away...away from the mess his life had become. He needed a break from all that chaos. No, his life hadn't been especially wonderful in the last few years, but it had been orderly and manageable. This that he was facing now...it wasn't manageable. He couldn't deal with all the people that were suddenly there, with all the implications of what Dr. Barter had told him, with no longer being an Observer...with having killed a man. There were too many attacks on his normal life and he was conceding.

Some aimless wheeling brought him to an empty open room. He didn't know what it was used for or anything like that, but it was empty, devoid of people...and no one was likely to find him there. That's all he wanted for a while.

Solitude.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony got to the hospital with only half an hour left of visiting hours. There was no finagling with visiting hours at Bethesda. They were likely to kick you out and bar you from coming back if you were caught trying to violate the set schedule. ...but he wasn't sure about coming to visit Tim in any case; so half an hour seemed ample.

He wasn't really sure why he was bothering at this point. He had never exchanged more than official words with Tim until in the car...and the conversation in the car hadn't exactly been stellar. Curiosity, maybe. Tim had been Gibbs' Observer for eight years and now, instead of being a calm and collected voice, he was a stammering, frightened man who had gone through an experience that had clearly shocked him. Two disparate images that had been brought together so quickly... Tony just couldn't fit them into his worldview quite yet.

When he found Tim's room empty, Tony decided he wasn't to be thwarted so easily and since he time to kill, he wandered through the hallways on various floors until he found one room with a solitary occupant. It wasn't a patient room. It was some kind of lobby. Open spaces with a couple of tables and chairs.

Only one person was currently in the room. It was Tim. He cut a not-so-strong figure. The left side of his head was missing most of its hair and there was a bandage behind his left ear. Tim had a healing black eye...and at the moment, he was pushing himself to his feet with shaky arms and even shakier legs. He managed to get to his feet and stand, but it was clear that it was a hard-won victory and it wouldn't last. Tony stood just out of sight and watched as Tim took one awkward, faltering step, followed by another in a strangely-wide gait that looked more like tottering than walking. Then, the third step, his legs crumpled beneath him and Tim fell to the floor. Tony started to walk into the room but then stopped as Tim pulled himself up onto his knees and proceeded to crawl back to his wheelchair. He heaved himself into it and then wheeled himself to one of the large windows, put on the brakes and stood again. This time, he didn't try to walk. He just stood and stared out the window.

Tony felt that, as Tim was now, he was getting a rare glimpse at what could have been. Tim was tall, and when not trying to walk, actually looked fairly solid. _That_ was the man who matched the skilled voice on the other end of the line.

...and that was the man Tony chose to talk to...as opposed to the man trying to walk, the man forced to crawl to his chair. The man standing at the window was the man Tim who resembled the Observer Tony had vaguely known.

"Hey, McGee," Tony said.

Tim turned around quickly and was forced to grab onto the chair and then to lower himself back down to it. The fragile balance had been lost.

"Agent DiNozzo," he said in that same calm..._detached_ voice, Tony now realized. It was a detachment as if Tim was separating himself from the people around him.

"Just Tony."

Tim just shrugged and looked at him, clearly waiting for him to state his business...and then leave, probably.

"Uh..." Tony began awkwardly.

"You don't have to visit me," Tim said calmly. "I don't require it and I don't really know you; so you don't have to feel obligated to come and stare at the gimp." There was no inflection, but Tony could see from the expression on Tim's face that he was upset about something. Funny that it didn't come out in his voice at all.

"I know I don't have to. I wanted to."

"Why?"

Tony stared at Tim for a moment, almost in fascination. Tim wasn't hiding anything in his expression...but if you only heard him, you would think he was completely calm, almost bored. This was how it had been for him. Conversing almost exclusively through that Observer com...which was now gone. Then, Tim surprised him by arching an eyebrow.

"Is it weird that I'm more than a voice?"

"Yeah," Tony said, nodding. "Is it weird for you _being_ more than a voice?"

"You have no idea," Tim said, almost fervently.

"Probably not. What is it like?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Curiosity mostly...but also because it's obvious that something is eating at you. Talking can help...sometimes. I can't promise to solve any of your problems, but I can listen."

"Lots of people listen to me."

"Only in a professional capacity." Tony pulled out a chair and spun it around so that he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back.

"You're offering yourself up as an alternative?"

"Since no one else is around..."

"I kind of prefer it with no one else around, actually. I'm not used to being around people very much. I go to the store and out to eat every so often...met up with Abby on occasion, but I always have to..._had_ to be available any time of the day or night. It's easier to stay in, easier to have all interactions be on the phone or on the computer or through the com. ...and except for the com, I can end them any time I want...and just be alone. Suddenly, there's people...everywhere...all the time..." Suddenly, the detachment was gone and Tim was upset in his expression _and_ his voice. "And my whole _life_ is messed up now. Nothing makes sense anymore."

He met Tony's gaze for a few seconds and then looked away. Again, Tony figured this was a result of his relative isolation. Not used to looking people in the eye.

"I can't make the decisions I have to make...because there's too much riding on them...too much of _my_ life rides on them. As an Observer I'm supposed to not care about my charges on a personal level. They're part of my job and that's it. They die...and you move on. I can't...deal with things that matter."

Tony nodded sympathetically but said nothing. Tim's eyes moved back to him with almost an amused expression.

"What? No solutions?"

"Nope. I told you. I can't promise to solve anything. I'm just listening...and...it's kind of cool."

"What is?"

"Seeing who you are...after all these years. It's like you've always been there, but in the shadows and now you're around and...and it's like meeting a member of the team for the first time...but not really because you've always been a part of the team."

"You don't have to say that. I won't be hurt."

"I'm not just saying it. Heck, if we could do it, I'll bet Gibbs would love to have you on the team still. It's going to be bizarre to have another Observer in his ear. I don't know who else will deal with the Boss."

Tim almost winced.

"You're going to miss it, aren't you."

"Yeah." That was it. No elaboration. Just one heartfelt agreement.

"Well, believe it or not, no matter how little we've actually talked to you, Ziva and I'll miss you, too...on a professional level. It just won't be the same without you on the team...our unofficial fourth member."

Tim looked at him for another moment and then took the brakes off his wheelchair and began to roll out of the room.

"Visiting hours are over...Tony."

Tony nodded and stood up to follow Tim. "Hey, Ziva was talking about coming to officially meet you, too. Should I tell her to wait for a bit?"

"Yes, please."

"Those hard decisions?"

"Yeah."

"Sure, okay."

"You don't seem to bothered by that," Tim said, the calm voice back.

Tony shrugged. "We don't really know you...yet. We'd both _like_ to...if only out of curiosity at the moment, but neither of us hang out with too many computer geeks. Could be fun."

"I'm not fun," Tim said with a small smile. "I'm boring."

"Instrumental in breaking yourself and Gibbs out of jail...protected the guy for eight years...apparently some kind of genius...doesn't sound too boring to me."

"That's all work. I don't have a job anymore. All that's left is what you see...a cripple who can use computers. Nothing more."

Tim rolled faster, clearly intending to leave Tony behind. Tony knew he could keep up easily but he stopped and called after Tim.

"See ya around, McGee...but in a few days. Good luck."

Tim slowed to a stop, looked back once and the continued on his way without saying anything. Tony watched him go and felt anything but bored by the interaction. He was more intrigued than ever, but Tim had seemed serious about his need for solitude. He'd respect that...

...for now.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Tim didn't get much sleep that night. That didn't bother him much. He was used to having his sleep interrupted. It gave him a chance to cherish his solitude. The only people he saw were the nurses who occasionally looked in on him during the night. His lack of sleep, however, was due less to his desire for isolation and much more to his chaotic thoughts.

When he spent too long thinking about what had happened in the prison, he began to feel antsy. When he thought too much about what his doctor had done, he felt almost ill. ...and when he thought about the possibilities presented by the surgery Dr. Barter had described, he was terrified. It was too much to think about.

He didn't get to sleep until near dawn.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam and Naomi came into the hospital as soon as visiting hours began.

"Good morning," the nurse said. "How are you?"

"Fine," Naomi said. "We're here to see Timothy McGee."

"All right. I'll need your ID and please sign in here."

Sam pulled out his wallet and showed his ID and Naomi did the same. They both signed the required sheet.

"Now, if you could just look toward this camera here," the nurse said, pointing to a security camera mounted in plain sight on the wall. "The images taken will be erased after one week and permanent copies are not retained although the rest of the cameras do make more long-term recordings."

"Thank you," Naomi said. After going through all the steps, they were admitted into the hospital and headed for Tim's room.

Bethesda had become the East Coast center for most Observer operations and treatments, as well as the premiere hospital for any LEO injuries. This had increased the required security and there were no loopholes for regular visitors. Everyone had to be documented in case there was an infiltration. ...and everyone who had cause to come to Bethesda knew the rules.

Sam and Naomi made no protest about the procedure. Instead, they focused on getting to their son. It would be the first time they'd seen him since Sarah's death four years before. Naomi took a deep breath before knocking softly.

There was no response.

"He might still be asleep."

Sam looked over his shoulder at a kind-faced nurse.

"Excuse me?"

"He was awake most of the night. He might still be asleep. You can just go inside if you'd like."

"Thank you," Naomi said and quietly opened the door and held it open for Sam before come in after him.

Their first look at their son was...hard.

"He looks so different," Naomi whispered. "When did that happened?"

"Some time in the last four years."

"Why did we let that happen?"

"Because we're human, Naomi...and we make mistakes...even with our family," Sam said. He couldn't believe how much Tim had changed in the last four years. How much was due to his most recent experiences?

They remained in silence for a few minutes before Naomi moved forward.

"I can't believe you don't have a quotation ready, Sam," she said as she headed for the bed.

"I can't either," Sam replied with a sad smile.

Naomi sat down beside the bed and cupped her hand over Tim's cheek.

"He may want to sleep, Naomi," Sam said.

"Yes, I know, but I don't think he will." She leaned forward. "Tim?"

Her voice was very soft, but perhaps because it was the voice of his mother, Tim stirred and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and then focused on Naomi. His eyes widened in surprise and then his gaze flickered over onto Sam before moving back.

"I hope you don't mind that we're here, Tim," Naomi said. "Your friend, Abby, called us and told us what happened."

Tim said nothing for a long moment as he looked back and forth at his parents. Then, suddenly, he sat up, reached out and hugged his mother as tightly as he could.

"Mom," he whispered...and began to cry.

It wasn't violent or loud. It was just a quiet expression of emotion and relief at having someone near, someone he hadn't seen for a long time.

"Tim, you're much too thin."

Tim let Naomi go and wiped away his tears as he tried to smile.

"They weren't exactly feeding us in that prison."

Naomi shook her head. "No, Tim. This isn't just a few days' change. This is different. _You're_ different."

"It's been a while. I just...decided that I needed to lose some weight, stop...laying around so much."

"I'm sorry, Tim," Sam said, wheeling himself closer to the bed.

"What for, Dad?"

"We should have come sooner. We shouldn't have let ourselves stay away for so long. Even if you couldn't come to us, we could have come to you...and we should have. Our family isn't very large, but it's important and we've let it fall apart."

Tim smiled. "'The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.' Thomas Jefferson."

Naomi moved aside so that Sam could come closer. He pulled Tim to him and hugged him tightly.

"Benjamin Franklin. 'He that raises a large family does, indeed, while he lives to observe them, stand a broader mark for sorrow; but then he stands a broader mark for pleasure too.' ...but I'd say that goes for a family of any size."

"Tim, what happened?" Naomi asked after a few minutes. "Abby called to say that you'd been taken and then freed. What happened?"

Tim looked away. "I don't want to talk about that, okay? Not right now."

"All right."

"I guess they told you about Dr. Daniels?"

"Who they?" Sam asked. "What about him?"

"You haven't talked to anyone?" Tim asked, looking at them once more.

"No. Abby called us and we got here too late last night to come; so we got a hotel and came straight over this morning. Who were you expecting to have talked to us?"

"Agent Gibbs...or someone else on his team...Abby...my doctor here."

"We haven't spoken to anyone...except a nurse who told us that you hadn't slept much last night."

"What about Dr. Daniels? You haven't talked about him for a long time," Naomi said.

Tim looked down and wouldn't meet their eyes.

"He left me like this on purpose."

"Like what?"

"He left me unable to walk. He knew that there was something else that could have been done to help...and he didn't do it...didn't even run the tests that would have shown it."

"What?" Sam asked, appalled. "What are you talking about? Why?"

"He was recruiting me for the Observer program and figured I wouldn't join if I was more mobile."

"How did this even...come up again, Tim?" Naomi asked. "I thought you'd given up on all that."

"I had. Gibbs made a deal with me when we were...in that prison. If we both got out alive, I had to go and see Dr. Barter...because he didn't think it made sense that I couldn't walk but I wasn't paralyzed. Dr. Barter ran some tests and then did a CT scan." Tim took a quick breath. "He found cerebellar lesions that are causing my ataxia...and there's a surgery that can get rid of them to some degree...and Dr. Daniels never did it, never suggested it...because...because he got paid for referring people to the Observers."

"And they can still do the surgery?"

Tim nodded.

"When is it?"

"I haven't...decided to do it."

"Why not, Tim?" Sam asked impatiently. "You could walk again! You've always wanted that. Why would you even hesitate?"

"What if...it doesn't work? Maybe it's been too long."

"Try anyway," Naomi said.

"It could make things worse. If things go wrong...it could be worse. ...and even if it works, there's no guarantee that it will be a lot better...and they won't know right away because it will take time for the healing to happen..." Tim closed his eyes and shook his head. "How many times did Dr. Daniels say that something would come of the treatments, the therapy? How many times...and _nothing_ ever happened. Ever."

"Tim, I know it's not the same, but you know what?" Sam asked. "I'd give it all up in a heartbeat if I had chance of walking again. Take the chance!"

"How likely is it that something will go wrong?" Naomi asked, regaining her equilibrium.

"Not very...for most people," Tim said with a short, cynical laugh.

He still wouldn't look at them. Sam was surprised because it seemed not so much deliberate as natural. Tim didn't make a habit of looking at people...or maybe it was just in tense situations like this.

"I have to make a decision," Tim said in a low voice. "...and I know what decision I have to make. There's no other option, not really. ...but I can't make it. I can't choose. I can't take the risk."

"We can't make it for you, Tim," Naomi said. "No matter how much we might want to. This can't be something you feel you're forced to do...because no matter what the outcome is, you won't be happy if you didn't choose it for yourself."

"What's the worst that can happen if you get this surgery, Tim? Realistically, what's the worst thing?" Sam asked.

"That it won't be enough," Tim whispered.

Sam was surprised. He had expected doom and gloom that could easily be dispelled...not this. Tim had the chance to get what he had always wanted, but since it wasn't guaranteed...

"How much is enough, Tim?" he asked. "How much of a success does it have to be to be enough?"

"I don't know...but it can't be perfect. Dr. Barter explained that some of the damage is permanent, that the best I can expect is to be able to walk with a cane."

"Would that be enough? If you got that, would you be happy with it?"

"I don't know...I'm afraid to even think of it as a real possibility."

"Think of it now, Tim. Would you be happy if you could walk with a cane?"

"...yes."

"Okay. What if nothing improved? Since that's what really frightens you. What if the surgery didn't take?"

"...hoped for nothing...again."

"Okay. Those are your two extremes. Something you can be happy with getting and something you can't. Do you think that you could get past it if nothing improved? Do you think that you could tolerate it eventually?"

"I don't know...physically, yes...but I don't know if I can take another disappointment, another dashed hope. I just don't know. Every time I went to Dr. Daniels...every time he said there was a possibility and I'd believe him...and all this time, he was...he wasn't trying to help! He was trying to keep me like I was."

"Do you think Dr. Barter is doing that?"

"No."

Naomi smiled. "But that doesn't matter, does it. This isn't about logic or rationality. You're afraid of losing what you have, aren't you. ...and it's not the physical loss you're really worried about."

Tim shook his head.

"Tim, would you look at me?" Naomi asked.

Slowly, Tim lifted his gaze to his mother's eyes. His eyes were awash with tears and there was fear reflected in them. He said nothing.

"This has to be your decision, Tim," she said. "We couldn't choose for you four years ago and we won't choose for you now."

"Fulton Oursler said, 'Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future,'" Sam said. "Both of those are paralyzing you more than I ever could be. Tim, don't let these past disappointments ruin your chances."

Blinking too quickly, Tim's eyes moved to Sam's and he tried to smile but had to fight against the tears.

"I know you're right. I do, Dad. I know...but every time I think of it...I just get this...this sick feeling and all I can do is wish that I didn't have to face hoping again. I've lost my job. I...some things happened at the...at the prison...and...and if this goes wrong...what do I have left? I don't know what I can do. I don't know...what my life is now. I know what it was...but now...everything it _was_ is gone."

"If so, Tim...then, I think I'm glad it is."

"How can you _say_ that, Dad? I had a good job. Yes, there were things I had to give up for it, but it was a good job. I was helping people, protecting them."

"Yes...and what else, Tim?" Sam asked. "You've defined your life as encapsulating a job...and nothing else...because that job required _everything_ of you. Yes, you were doing something worthwhile, but you had to set aside everything else of value for it. No one should define themselves only by their occupation...and your occupation meant almost complete isolation! Tim, that's not a life. No, we can't make the decision for you, but don't squander this chance to have more...of everything."

"What should I do, then, Dad?" Tim asked, with some bitterness. "What is going to take the place of what I did?"

"I don't know, Tim, but isn't it worth seeing what there is?"

"Maybe it's not."

"Are you going to risk doing nothing, then?" Naomi asked.

"There's no risk."

"Yes, there is. You're risking staying in limbo for the rest of your life, knowing that there's a possibility...and yet not taking the chance." Naomi laughed although it was clear she didn't find the situation funny in the least. "That will eat at you, Tim. That's the kind of person you are and we all know it."

Tim laughed in the same way.

"How do I break the impasse?" he whispered.

"By making a decision," Sam said. "By making the decision you already told us you have to make...and know that we'll be here for you...to whatever extent you need us."

"Even if it works...what am I going to do?" Tim asked.

"Let's get to that point, first, Tim," Naomi said. "All right? Surely, that's enough to worry about at once."

"Yeah...I guess it is."

"So...break the impasse, Tim."

Tim looked at Sam and Naomi and then at the call button beside his bed. He nodded and pressed it. Sam smiled but said nothing. This was Tim's own internal struggle and to say anything more right now would be generally extraneous.

A few minutes later, Dr. Barter himself came into the room. He must have been waiting for Tim's decision.

"Hello, you're Mr. McGee's parents?"

"Yes," Sam said, holding out his hand. "I'm Sam and this is my wife, Naomi."

Naomi also shook his hand and then sat back as Dr. Barter focused his attention on Tim.

"Is there something you needed, Mr. McGee?"

"I made my decision," Tim said.

"What is it?"

"Schedule th-the s-s-surgery," he said and then took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

It took a few days to get everything set up for the surgery. There were a lot of details to put in place before Dr. Barter was ready to operate. So Tim was left waiting. He didn't want the time...the time to think and worry. He was used to having almost his entire day (and often a good part of the night) filled with activity and thought...and...and _work_. To be doing absolutely nothing...it was hard. He just didn't know how to deal with the empty space.

It was two a.m., the night before his surgery and Tim was wide awake. He actually wished that the visiting hours weren't so strongly enforced. He really wanted to be able to...to _do_ something, even if that something was just being hugged by his mother.

He worried at a fingernail and hoped that the time would pass fast enough that he could get to his surgery.

After another half hour, Tim was startled by a ringing phone. He wondered who it could be at this hour of the night...er, morning. He actually reached up to his left ear at first and then flushed as he remembered that he didn't have anything there anymore...and he was perfectly aware of how a telephone worked. He hesitated and then answered it.

"Hello?"

"_Hey, McGee."_

"Gibbs?" Tim asked. He hadn't actually seen or heard from him since his blowup two days before.

"_That's right...and congratulations."_

"I haven't had the surgery yet," Tim said and noticed he'd unconsciously slipped into his calm Observer voice.

"_I meant congratulations for not answering like an Observer."_

"Who's your new one?"

"_Don't have one yet."_

"They won't let you stay that way."

"_We'll see. How are you doing?"_

"Fine."

"_Really?"_

Tim didn't reply.

"Hey...Gibbs...I...I'm sorry."

"_What for?"_

"For what I said to you...before. I was..."

"_Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness."_

"No, it isn't," Tim said. "It's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of social awareness. What I said to you was wrong and it wasn't nice. An apology is...warranted."

"_No, it's not. I didn't expect you to be happy about what you learned."_

"But I took it out on you."

"_I figured you would. You couldn't take it out on Daniels...like I wanted to. The man deserved to die of something a lot worse than cancer."_

"I'm still sorry."

"_You still don't need to be. ...now, are you really all right?"_

Tim couldn't deny it...and he desperately needed to let out his fears somewhere. He wasn't used to being so stressed out and worried.

"No. I'm terrified."

"_About what?"_

"This...the surgery. Gibbs...it's...this is my life. It could work. It could fail...and it matters...to me. This isn't my job. This isn't... This is my life! The only good thing about how terrified I am about this is..." He stopped.

"_Is what?"_

"Nothing."

"_What, McGee? No rules governing what you can talk about."_

"You don't need to keep reminding me," Tim said quietly. Gibbs didn't seem to realize how much Tim regretted what he'd lost.

"_What is it?"_

"It...keeps me from...thinking about the man I killed."

"_That still bothering you?"_

"I killed a man, Gibbs!" Tim exclaimed. "I took a knife and rammed it into his throat! I had his _blood_ all over me! Yes, it's still bothering me!"

"_Good."_

"Good?" Tim couldn't even think of something to say in response to that callous reply.

"_Yeah. If I had to choose between you finding it easy to kill and you feeling this disturbed by it, I'll take this."_

"Well, bully for you."

"_Believe me, McGee, you don't want to think that killing means nothing. You've taken a life. That's a big deal."_

"You're not making me feel any better."

"_Would it help if I told you that there was no other option? Because there wasn't."_

"No."

"_Then, why bother trying? This is the truth, McGee. You killed a man...but that man was a criminal, someone who wanted to kill us both, who _would_ have enjoyed doing it. He had to die. There was no other way for us to get out."_

Tim said nothing.

"_Give yourself a little while and you'll be fine."_

"I still don't feel any better about it."

"_So would you rather think about that or about your surgery?"_

"Neither...but I don't think I could possibly think about anything else."

"_What about what you'll do after?"_

"I don't want to think about that...not while I don't know what's going to happen. Too much depends on what happens with this s-s-surgery. I don't want to plan for something that won't be possible."

"_How come I never knew what a pessimist you are before?"_

"Because I'm only pessimistic about my own chances," Tim said and smiled a little. "I'm much more confident about what other people will get."

"_Good to know. So...would you believe any cliche statements about what will happen tomorrow?"_

"No."

Gibbs chuckled. _"Big surprise."_

"...but could you say them anyway?" Tim asked.

Another chuckle.

"_I'll be there when you walk for the first time."_

"That won't happen for a long time...even if it works like they say it could."

"_I'll still be there."_ There was a pause. _"McGee, what are you thinking is going to happen after the excitement from all this dies down?"_

"You'll go back to work. You'll get another Observer. You'll have to. I'll...be trying to learn how to walk again. Abby'll come...maybe. If she doesn't decide she's offended by the fact that I never told her what I did for a living. Agent DiNozzo and Agent David will pretend to be interested in me for a little while and then they'll go back to their normal lives. I'll have to...figure out just what in the world I can do with my life no matter what level of mobility I have."

"_You have that little faith in us?"_

"It's not about faith, Gibbs. It's about reality. Would you have even have thought about my existence if I wasn't your Observer?"

"_Yes."_

"And how do you know that?"

"_Because I met you in the park and I thought that knowing someone as brave as you seemed to be would be worth doing."_

Tim laughed a little. "I was scared to death that you'd realize who I was."

"_I didn't."_

"Gibbs?"

"_Yeah?"_

"What am I going to do with my life?"

"_Why ask me?"_

"Because you seem to think that there's something I _can_ do."

"_That's because there is."_

"Like what? I didn't always like being an Observer, but I felt like it was something I could do well...and it was worthwhile! And now...now, I don't have that."

"_You'll figure something out. If you want to wait until you know that I'm right and you can walk, then that's fine. Do that. ...but you're going to be able to walk, McGee...and I'm going to make sure I'm there to see."_

"Why?"

"_So I can say that I told you so."_

Tim laughed. "I hope you can."

"_I will. Did that help?"_

Tim thought about it. The lead balloon of worry was still filling his stomach. His heart was still thumping unpleasantly. Talking with Gibbs had distracted him slightly, but as soon as he thought about what was coming, it was back to the stress and anxiety.

"No...but thanks anyway."

"_Anytime."_

"Why did you call me? Is there something you needed?"

Gibbs laughed softly...and Tim couldn't help but join in.

"Old habits die hard."

"_Figured you wouldn't be sleeping."_

"Good guess."

"_Are you going to sleep now?"_

"Not very likely."

"_You want people there tomorrow?"_

"My surgery's early in the morning...before visiting hours start. No one will be here. Probably better that way."

"_Your parents will be there after?"_

"I'll bet I couldn't keep them away if I tried to."

"_Do you want the rest of us to stay away?"_

Tim thought about it. He actually wasn't sure what he wanted in that respect. Isolation had been rather nice...but right now, he would have given almost anything to have someone there to distract him from his impending surgery.

"If you really want to be there...I...don't care."

"_We'll be there, then."_

"Who's _we_?"

"_Me. Abby...probably Tony and Ziva. Ducky said he wanted to meet you as well, although he'll likely wait until you're in a better state to meet new people."_

"Why is everyone so interested? Because I'm an Observer?"

"_I'm sure that has something to do with it. Ducky, however, wants to say thank you."_

"Why? I've never even met the guy."

"_When you do, you'll understand. Ducky's...hard to describe."_

"Gibbs...I...I don't want to..."

"_After the surgery is over, if you want us to be scarce...just say so."_

"Okay. I guess I'll try to sleep again."

"_Right. See you tomorrow, McGee."_

"Bye, Gibbs."

Tim hung up and lay back. That had killed some time...but not very much. Not enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By the time Dr. Barter came in to get the prep started for the surgery, Tim was still awake. He'd not been able to get any sleep at all.

"Good morning, Mr. McGee. Are you ready?"

"If I say no, what will you do?"

Dr. Barter smiled and paused in his preparations.

"Mr. McGee, I am very good at what I do."

"I don't doubt that."

"We've already gone over everything that's going to happen. Do you want to go through it again?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I don't...think it'll help. You can just get on with things."

"All right. Remember, though, Mr. McGee, that even if everything works perfectly..."

"I know...I still won't be running."

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say that there's a lot of physical therapy ahead of you. It will take time for your brain to heal. You won't be instantly walking around, not even a week or a month after the surgery. It's going to take time and that doesn't mean that it's failed."

"How will you know if it has, then?"

"We'll be keeping a close eye on your brain for the next few months. If we see signs of healing, that means that the surgery was a success...to what degree, we won't know, but we'll know that you'll have some increased mobility...and that will come fairly early on. I can't say exactly when, but it won't be a long wait."

"So...I'll just live the rest of my life hoping for more than I have?"

"No. We'll see a plateau in your progress. Scans will show a stop to the healing process...and after that, any improvement will be a bonus."

"Okay. Let's get this over with."

"All right."

It didn't take long, once the preparations started, to get Tim ready for the surgery. The last step, as far as Tim was concerned, was the administration of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist was very kind and explained all the things Tim might feel as he went under and then what to expect when he woke up.

"Everything will be all right, Mr. McGee. Just trust us."

Tim's eyes began to close. He drifted off on a cloud of...of something. He had one last thought before the anesthesia claimed him.

_Please, let this work..._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The surgical team was all assembled in the OR when Tim was rolled in.

"Everyone ready?"

A chorus of agreements.

"I heard that this is one of Daniels' patients," one of the nurses said.

Dr. Barter nodded. "Yeah. Car accident at age sixteen. Never had any scans of his cerebellum until last week. Daniels never let anyone know that there was a chance he could have walked again."

Someone let out a low-voiced curse.

"I agree. Let's see if we can give this man back his legs, shall we?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There were two people heading into the hospital at the same time Gibbs was. He didn't pay them much attention, intent on getting to the waiting room; so that he could be there when Tim was out of surgery. However, he did notice that they both seemed worried. He figured they were there for the one in the wheelchair, not thinking about much else. He tried not to delay them. Instead, he quickly went through the motions of pandering to the security precautions and then headed off down the hall. He'd been here before after all. ...both as a patient and otherwise.

For the first time, Gibbs began to wonder about all the things he might have avoided because he'd had Tim as his Observer. The treachery five years ago was only one obvious instance. What if Tim hadn't been there to warn him? He might have been blown up along with Galib.

He smiled to himself...but his smiled faded as he realized, almost for the first time, how soon after Sarah McGee's murder that had taken place. Tim had probably saved his life and Gibbs had never known just what kinds of sacrifices he'd made.

_How many times did McGee give up something to keep watch over me?_ Gibbs wondered to himself.

He reached the waiting room and sat down, knowing that the surgery wouldn't be over for a while yet. As he sat, coffee in hand, his mind wandered through various memories.

Only a few minutes later, however, the couple from the entrance came into the waiting room. They smiled briefly at him, the kind of smile strangers give each other so that they don't seem to be unfriendly. They headed to one corner and talked softly to each other, both seeming anxious. Gibbs considered. It didn't _have_ to be Tim's parents, but really...the coincidence was too great. A man in a wheelchair, and he knew Tim's dad was paralyzed.

What did he have to lose, really? If he was wrong, he could go back to his chair and sit and wait.

Decision made, Gibbs stood and walked over.

"Are you McGee's parents?"

They looked up at him, startled. Gibbs sat down so that he was on the same level as they were.

"Yes. I'm Naomi and this is my husband, Sam. Who are you?"

Gibbs smiled. "Jethro Gibbs. Your son was my Observer."

There was just a moment, very brief, when Sam's eyes hardened slightly...but then they softened again and he smiled. It wasn't an entirely _friendly_ smile, but it wasn't hostile by any means.

"Oh, Tim's mentioned you before. I don't know if he was supposed to, but he did." Naomi managed a better smile, but she was clearly worried.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked. Again, he wasn't hostile, but not entirely welcoming.

"I owe McGee a lot, and I told him I'd be here. It's been an experience getting to know him after so many years."

"Why are you bothering?" Sam asked.

"Sam!" Naomi said.

"I'm not trying to be rude, Agent Gibbs. Honestly, I'm not. ...but Tim has always had a fairly large number of charges. Why are you here?"

"Because...I want to be," Gibbs said, settling for a truthful, if slightly evasive answer.

Naomi smiled. "That's a good enough reason for me. I'm glad to see that there's someone else here...although I'd hoped to meet Abby. She's the one who called us."

"She's at work right now, but I'm sure she'll show up."

"Why aren't you?"

Gibbs smiled. "I'm not allowed until I get a new Observer."

"It's been a while. Why don't you have one?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Don't want one."

"Tim implied that there wasn't much choice involved."

"There's not, but I have a habit of being difficult."

"So I understand," Naomi said with a smile. "Tim never said much..."

"Never _called_ us much," Sam added, with a slight hint of bitterness.

Gibbs looked at Sam in surprise.

"You didn't talk to him?"

"Agent Gibbs," Sam said, "this is the first time we've seen Tim in almost five years. He called sometimes, but while he called us a couple of weeks ago, before that, it had been at least a year since we'd heard from him."

"Why?"

"Because he would always get interrupted," Naomi said. "It was harder to deal with Tim hanging up on us than it was for him not to call at all. He'd keep us updated by email...but nothing in real time."

Gibbs looked at these two people and realized that he'd had a lot more contact with Tim over the last eight years than they had...and yet, even now, they knew him a lot more than Gibbs ever had.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was probably me more than anyone else." He hesitated and then decided he might as well let them know. "McGee told me...while we were in the prison...that he missed his sister's funeral because I needed his help."

"You?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. I never knew...and I'll be honest. I never thought about it."

"I figured. He wasn't real to you, was he," Sam said.

"Often he wasn't."

A silent nod. Sam looked around the waiting room, his eyes settling on nothing for a few seconds. Then, in a low voice, he spoke...not to Gibbs really, just spoke.

"'We were a silent, hidden thought in the folds of oblivion, and we have become a voice that causes the heavens to tremble.' Khalil Gibran."

Gibbs was, again, taken by surprise. Sam didn't seem to be aware that he'd just said something that made no sense to anyone else. Gibbs looked at Naomi, but she just smiled. This must be normal.

"That's Tim. 'A silent hidden thought in the folds of oblivion.' ...but he always wanted to be so much more. That's why Dr. Daniels' suggestion was successful...because Tim wanted to be more..." Sam laughed. "'...a voice that causes the heavens to tremble.' ...or at least a voice that made a difference."

"He is that...even without his voice in my ear," Gibbs said, firmly.

"And you figured that out with two weeks of knowing him?"

"Yes," Gibbs said. "...but not because of what you're thinking. I knew a lot more about who McGee is from meeting him in the park...and I didn't know it was him."

"What do you mean?" Naomi asked.

"I ran into him by accident a few weeks ago, and I was impressed at meeting someone who was willing to go out at night in the face of possible attacks even when, physically, he wouldn't be able to fend them off. ...and then in the prison, he went far beyond what I expected of him."

"What happened in there?" Sam asked. "Tim has said he didn't want to talk about it. It must have been bad."

"McGee had to kill a man in order to get us out. One of our captors."

Neither Naomi nor Sam said anything in response to what Gibbs said, but Naomi's reaction said a lot about how deeply they both had been shocked by it. There was no theatrical gasp, but Naomi put one hand over her mouth and then she looked at Sam. Sam's hands clenched the rims of his wheelchair, but nothing more. They both seemed stunned.

"It was the only way for us to get out...and it was the only way I could make sure that McGee got with me because he was sure he wasn't going to make it."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't deserve to," Gibbs said. "Your son believes all the hogwash the Observers apparently feed their employees. He believes that he has no value except as a 'shield' and if he couldn't be a shield then there was no reason for him to live. ...if he thought that I could get out without him..."

"He wouldn't have gone?"

"I don't know...but he's a lot more stubborn than I expected."

Sam laughed at that. "Yes. When Tim makes up his mind about something, it's usually almost impossible to change it."

Gibbs smiled at the change in Sam's voice from slightly hostile just to a parent speaking of a child. He tried to encourage that.

"You have no idea how annoying it could get when he was working with me...but I always knew that if he insisted on something it was important."

"'The voice of the intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing.' Sigmund Freud."

Gibbs grinned. "You do that a lot?"

"Now, _you_ have no idea," Naomi said. "Sam has so many quotations in his head, it's amazing he has room for original thoughts."

"Freud's right, I guess," Gibbs said. "McGee never shouted at me, but I couldn't get him to leave me alone if he thought I was in danger."

"Yes. That sounds like him," Naomi said. "More than anything in the world, Tim wanted to be an NCIS agent. When he found out that he might be able to be an Observer for NCIS, that was the next best thing to him. It was hard for the first year when they kept passing him over for others. Tim wasn't their usual fare and he said that he was getting discouraged before you chose him. Actually, I think he would have quit if you hadn't picked him from the list."

"And that's what you wanted, isn't it," Gibbs said.

"Not then," Naomi admitted. "When he had a few inactive charges, he would talk to us a lot. He didn't visit since he had to be available at any time, but Sarah came and visited him a few times, and we all came once. Then, once he got you...he also had a couple of other fairly active charges and..."

"...it was like we'd lost our son," Sam said. "Then, we wished that Tim had never been chosen as your Observer. We wanted him to be...somewhere else. The problem, of course, is that we couldn't think of somewhere else for him to be where he could be happy." He sighed and the levity faded completely. "Sometimes...I wonder if he's _ever_ been happy since the accident. I went through a pretty black period myself, Agent Gibbs, but...but Tim had it worse in a way. I knew right away that I'd never walk again; so my plunge was quick and then I could climb out and deal with it. Tim went through _years_ of being told that he'd walk again, but every time, it was a lie. And now, we now we know that it was a _deliberate_ lie. If we want to stretch my metaphor to the breaking point, it was as though he continually started to drown...only to find that it wasn't just that he couldn't swim. It was that someone was actively holding his head under the water. ...and nothing can be done to make that right."

"He's having the surgery right now."

"Yes, but he can't get back those years again, Agent Gibbs. Those years are lost forever. The man Tim might have been is gone forever. Even if a miracle happens and Tim really _could_ run again, he'll never be the same person he could have been. He'll never be the boy I knew on his birthday when he got that car and felt like he had everything going for him. He was a nerd and he knew it, but he had his own little niche...and after the accident..." Sam shrugged. "And now, with this surgery..."

"We don't know what he'll do, what he'll _want_," Naomi continued. "We're trying not to dwell on that too much. Our focus has to be on seeing just how much mobility he'll have, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. Tim's got a knack for computers, for making them do what he wants them to do...but that's never been what he wanted to do. It's always been a stepping stone to what he wanted."

"Maybe he'll get a miracle yet. There's always a chance, and at least now he has hope of things getting better."

Being encouraging like this wasn't Gibbs' strong suit. He knew it, but the years of having to speak with Tim in order to communicate had kept him from being as taciturn as was his nature. ...and the things that the McGees were telling him had sparked a bit of interest, and an as-yet-unformulated plan in his mind, one that could work to everyone's advantage...or at least everyone Gibbs himself cared about. He didn't say anything about it right then, however, preferring to keep it to himself for the moment.

Abby came later that day, but Tony called saying that he and Ziva would wait until Tim was more awake. They both knew that Tim's connection to them was tenuous at best and would be better served if they waited to try and see what kind of friendship could be created...if any. Tim would need time to deal with the surgery, just psychologically, and that would come from people who knew him...although Gibbs hoped to get Ducky there to meet Tim. If nothing else, he felt the two would get along, particularly after meeting Sam.

It just a matter of waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right place...and waiting for the surgery to finish.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Dr. Barter stepped back.

"It looks good."

"More than good. That's as textbook a surgery as I've ever seen. He's got a good chance of this working."

Dr. Barter smiled, even though that was hidden by the mask.

"Let's close up and see what happens. Maybe we can repair some of the damage done by one of our own."

The surgery had taken more than eight hours all told, but all had gone as smoothly as could be expected. The doctors had done what they could.

Now, everyone had to wait and see.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** A quick note about this and the next few chapters. I'm not a doctor. I did my best to research this stuff, but I could easily have got some of it wrong. If it's blatantly awful, I do apologize. I hate getting things really wrong, and I hope you can still enjoy the story with a few medical inaccuracies. (Oh, and I did intentionally make up some stuff. Like Tim's surgery. As far as I could find, there is no surgery like this, but I decided that since it's AU, perhaps the crime war would have stirred research in some areas. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20<strong>

"Now, remember that he's just coming out of surgery," Dr. Barter told Sam and Naomi as they headed to Tim's room. "He'll be groggy probably until tomorrow."

"Why so long?"

"Well...we're keeping him partially sedated."

"Why?" Sam asked, coming to an abrupt stop.

"Because...the surgery involves work in the cerebellum. One of the immediate side effects of this particular surgery is a temporary total ataxia. ...only temporary."

Naomi looked at Sam.

"And you think that he'll panic if he wakes up and can't move?"

"It's not a paralysis, per se. It's more of a total lack of control of one's body. He'll have no motor control. Yes, considering his reactions so far, his past experiences. Why subject him to unnecessary anxiety? I'm telling you now so that _you_ don't think anything's gone wrong since he'll be pretty out of it."

"And what are the odds that the ataxia _will_ be permanent?" Sam asked.

"In layman's terms...slim to none. The surgery went well. There were no problems. It's just a matter of allowing his brain to...reboot, if you will. We've done quite a bit of work in there."

"But he's doing all right...so far as you can tell?"

"Yes. I've performed a few of these surgeries in my time, and I'd venture to say that this one went _exactly_ like it was supposed to. Go on in. If he does wake up, he'll be drowsy and likely won't be fully engaged, no matter what you do...and it's best if you don't draw any attention to the fact that he'll be unable to control his movements. We'll be coming in frequently to test his reactions. As soon as we determine that they're back to normal..."

"Normal meaning–?"

"That he can move. I don't mean that he'll be walking. He has to retrain his brain to function correctly and that means therapy, but he'll be able to move like he could before. We may even have cured the tremor in his hands...more or less right away. All that remains to be seen."

They reached the door to Tim's room and Dr. Barter stopped.

"Go on in. Even if he's not really awake, he'll appreciate the company."

"What about his...friends?" Naomi asked.

"You can decide when or if they come until he wakes up completely. Up to you."

Naomi looked at Sam and then at Dr. Barter. "Just us for now."

"That's fine."

They both took a breath and walked into Tim's room.

Tim's eyes were closed. In fact, they couldn't even see the incision site at first. The bandage on the back of his head was small. He looked like he was just sleeping. They approached the bed and Naomi sat down quietly.

"What do you think, Sam?"

"'Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.' Albert Einstein."

Naomi smiled and then took Tim's hand.

"Tim...we're here. Anytime, you're ready to wake up."

Tim didn't awaken in response to her request, but he continued to breathe deeply and evenly.

"I hope this works, Sam. I really hope this works."

"So do I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs tried not to resent the McGees getting to go and see Tim after he was out of recovery. He knew it was selfish to want to be there. He barely knew Tim, but he felt he owed so much to him...and he felt some sort of...priority. But he knew he didn't have it. Tim's family was first. The family should always be first. So he bit back his disappointment and settled down to wait.

"Gibbs!"

He smiled at the voice. Abby. She ran over and hugged him.

"How's Tim? Is the surgery over? Did it work? Where is he? What about his parents?"

"They're with him right now, Abbs," Gibbs said. "Dr. Barter said the surgery went fine. I'm assuming McGee is back in his room."

"Then, why aren't _you_ there?"

"Because I wasn't invited."

"Since when has that stopped _you_?" Abby asked.

"Since it was McGee's family."

"But why wouldn't they let you go back?"

"Because I'm one of the people who kept McGee from seeing them for the last five years."

"Are they really mad at you about that?"

"Mad? Probably not."

"Then, why not?"

Gibbs smiled. "They're human...and they're his parents."

"The others are coming, too. ...and Vance wanted to know when you were coming back."

"I know."

"When, Gibbs? I miss you at NCIS."

"I'm not getting another Observer, Abby."

Abby's eyes widened. "But...but you _have_ to! Those are the rules! You have to have one because you had one before! ...and who will keep you safe when you go off on your own...again and again? And...and you can't leave NCIS!"

"I'm not going to."

"How?"

"You'll see. Later."

"Okay."

She sat down and snuggled up beside him, staying silent for once...which gave Gibbs a chance to make more plans. Again, he kept his ideas to himself. Until he could guarantee them...until he could talk to Tim, he wouldn't spill the beans.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's eyes fluttered open and then closed.

"Tim?"

They opened again, about halfway, and slowly moved around the room until they fell on his parents. He smiled vaguely and his eyelids drooped again. His eyes were shifting back and forth rapidly, almost as though the tremor in his hands had moved to his eyes.

"Hey..." he mumbled.

"Hey, Tim," Sam said. "How you feeling?"

"Tired."

"That's...to be expected. The surgery lasted a long time."

"How...long?"

"About eight hours."

"Wow."

The door to his room opened and a nurse came in.

"Hi," she said with a smile. "I'm just doing some routine tests. It won't take long." She moved to the bed. "Tim?"

Tim's eyes moved slowly to her.

"Uh-huh?"

"Could you do something for me?"

"Ssssure."

"Good. I want you to reach out with one hand and touch the circle on this card." She held it out so that Tim could only touch it if he reached his arm out straight.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Tim reached out a finger. It took a while because he kept getting the angle wrong, but finally, he managed to touch the card. Sam and Naomi looked at each other worriedly, but the nurse just smiled.

"Good. That's very good, Tim. We'll be back to check on you again in a few hours." She made a few notations on his chart, checked all his monitors and then excused herself.

"Sam," Naomi whispered.

That's all she needed to say. Sam nodded for her to go. Naomi hurried out into the hall.

"Excuse me! Nurse...uh...I didn't get your name."

The nurse paused. "I'm Marta. You're worried about Mr. McGee's ability?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Don't worry. This is normal. He had some control back already. Based on previous experience with these kinds of surgeries, I'd guess that by the time we repeat the test, Mr. McGee will demonstrate his readiness to return to full consciousness. Some of the slowness is due to the sedation, of course, but it's the sureness of the movement. Right now, he's making a lot of course corrections, but he made it to touch the circle and that means that his cerebellum _is_ regaining function."

"You're sure?"

Marta put a comforting hand on Naomi's arm. "Yes. I'm sure."

"It's hard to see him like this and believe that it's helping him."

"As much as I can, I do understand that. There are a lot of areas of medicine where it seems as though we have to break them down into order to heal them, but trust me, if you can. Mr. McGee will improve dramatically in the next few hours...and by tomorrow, he'll be alert and at least back where he was before...so that we can get him further along."

"Okay. I'll try."

Naomi took another deep breath and returned to the room. Sam was holding one of Tim's hands and talking to him about something literature-related. Tim's were still flickering back and forth but he seemed to be paying attention. She put a hand on Sam's back and nodded at his questioning look. Sam allowed a look of relief to cross his face and then he shifted subjects.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to see some of your friends?"

"What...frienss?"

"Agent Gibbs. Abby."

"Oh...them..." Tim's eyes closed and then he opened them again. "Don'...know... they...here?"

"Agent Gibbs has been here since this morning, but Abby had to work. We're hoping to meet her soon enough."

Tim managed a lopsided smile.

"You...willl..."

"Do you want to see them now?"

Sssssure...if you...tellll 'em...I'm...noooot...at my...besssss..."

"We will."

"'kay."

Sam smiled as Naomi turned toward the door.

"So...Tim...I never got a chance to tell you about how my classes are doing on their writing assignments."

The laugh Tim managed was a sad parody of his real laugh, and Naomi had to remind herself that all this was only temporary...very temporary.

_It will all be okay tomorrow._

She walked through the halls back to the waiting room and was surprised to see not just Gibbs, but Abby...and three other people she didn't really know. It was clear that they all knew each other, but she didn't know them all.

"Hello," she said.

The talking was silenced instantly at Gibbs' glance.

"I'm Naomi, Tim's mother."

Abby (it could only be Abby, Naomi decided) leapt to her feet and ran over. Naomi instantly found herself being hugged tightly.

"Hi, Naomi. I'm Abby."

"Nice to meet you finally," Naomi said and hugged her back, although with a bit less exuberance.

"Is Tim okay?"

"Dr. Barter said that the surgery went really well, but Tim is being kept under partial sedation because the cerebellum needs...to reboot, I guess."

"How long?" Gibbs asked.

"Just today probably. The nurse told us that by tomorrow Tim should be back to how he was." Naomi looked over at the other three people in the room. "Who are you?"

"Oh, forgive me," the older man said. "I'm Dr. Mallard, Ducky to my friends and colleagues. I work at NCIS. I've never met your son, but I've heard much about him in the last few days and I was simply offering some moral support. I wouldn't dream of intruding at this point."

"I am Ziva David," said the woman. "And this Tony DiNozzo. We are both on Gibbs' team. We have had some interaction with McGee and have wanted to get to know him better now that we are allowed to do so."

"But like Ducky said," Tony interjected, "we don't want to intrude. We don't really know him yet. We're just here to offer some support."

"Thank you," she said. "I have to admit that...that I'm surprised. Tim hasn't...had many _acquaintances_ and even fewer friends. You all coming here just because you've heard about him...I don't know what to say. I don't think he would want you all to see him right now, but later on, when he's getting back to form...I would...guess that he wouldn't mind you coming."

"That's quite all right," Ducky said. "I'm eager to meet him when I am given the opportunity, but I'll be patient."

Naomi smiled at the proper and yet warm words.

"I think Tim will like to meet you, Dr. Mallard. Right now, he has said that he'd like to see Agent Gibbs and Abby...but I just want to warn you first that he's..." she smiled. "...in his words, he's not at his best. His words are slurred and he has very little motor control. He's just not all there right now, but he's awake and can talk...a little. He's better at listening right now. If you'd like to come back, you're welcome to come."

"We'd like to," Abby said instantly.

Gibbs merely nodded and stood up to follow her. Naomi led them through the hall to Tim's room.

"Dr. Barter said to make sure you don't make any references to the fact that he can't really move right now. It will only make it harder for him."

"Okay. We won't," Abby promised.

Naomi gestured for them to go inside and then waited in the hall.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs smiled at Sam who managed a smile in return that was almost friendly. Then, he rolled out, leaving Gibbs and Abby alone with Tim who was clearly "not at his best" as Naomi had said. Abby hesitated for a moment before running over to the bed and grabbing Tim's hand.

"Tim! Hi!" she said.

"Hey..." Tim said, his eyes wobbling back and forth at high speed. "Abbsss."

"How's it going?"

"...tired..."

"Well, you don't _have_ to talk to us, you know."

Tim smiled...sort of, and his eyes moved more or less to Gibbs.

"Hey...'kay?"

"I'm fine, McGee. Stop thinking like an Observer."

Another pseudo-smile.

"Habit."

"Break it."

"Try...to..." His head lolled about a bit. "...later..."

"You can postpone it for now."

"But when you're more awake, you've _got_ to meet Ducky, Tim," Abby said eagerly. "I think you'd really get along! And Ducky's so much fun! If you ever need a distraction, he's the guy to go to."

"Why?"

"He's got at least ten stories for every possible experience you could dream up."

"Sounds...fun..." Tim's voice was slurred and his eyes slid shut again...and stayed closed.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" he answered.

"You want us to stay or go?"

"Sleep..."

"Okay. I'll stay until you sleep. Don't worry about a thing."

One deep breath and then Tim's body relaxed. He was out.

"Gibbs?" Abby whispered.

"He'll be fine," Gibbs said, but he was worried by the sight before him...even though he'd been told that it would be okay. He just hoped that tomorrow would bring definite progress over this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Everyone had to leave when visiting hours ended. They did and scattered to their various abodes. All were somewhat worried, but all tried to remember that this was temporary.

At about midnight, Dr. Barter himself conducted the tests of Tim's cerebellar functioning. The slowness could easily be attributed to the continuing sedation. Other than speed, he passed with flying colors. Satisfied that Tim would be able to deal with everything that would come up now, Dr. Barter stopped the sedatives and let Tim sleep and wake as he would...naturally.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

People who worked for the Observer program assumed that the version numbers listed on the Observer Handbook referred to how many times the handbook had been revised and that 2.6 simply indicated that it was the most recent version.

That was not true. The versions indicated who _received_ that particular version, not _when_ that particular version had been written. Observers who watched over high-ranking officials received the Observer Handbook version 1.6. Observers who watched over FBI or CIA received version 2.1.

Very few were aware of this fact. The version they received was the only version they ever saw. None of the versions contradicted each other. They all contained the same information. Most of the differences involved how an Observer was to interact with his or her charge.

That, of course, led to the question: What was version 1.0 and who had it?

There were a select few. A very select few.

...and what it contained would be a surprise to anyone who thought they knew anything about the Observers.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim came awake with a start. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was, what was going on. He half-expected to see bars...a cell door.

_A dead body..._

Then, he took another breath and looked around the room.

_The hospital. Right. Surgery._

It was dark out. It must be either really late or really early. Did that mean that the surgery had gone well or not? He didn't know. Why was it so dark? The surgery had begun in the morning. Surely, it hadn't taken all day.

_Did it fail?_

The thought made him feel sick. Maybe it had. Maybe it wasn't just the night after. Maybe it was days...or _weeks_. Years, even.

He started to feel what could only be described as abject terror at the thought.

_I'm paralyzed...maybe I'm actually paralyzed now...but I can feel my legs. I know they're there. _

He heard his own breath come out in short spurts. He really wished someone was there to tell him what was going on. He felt tears edging closer and closer to being expressed. It was from fear, nothing more...but nothing less. He was terrified at what seemed to be an all-too-likely possibility.

He wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking when he sat up in bed, ignoring the slight giddiness that accompanied the sudden shift in position. He wasn't thinking when he clumsily pulled his body to the side of the bed and dropped his legs over the edge.

_What if I can't walk? What will that mean? What if it was all for nothing?_

Panic threatening to take over his mind completely, Tim maneuvered himself so that he could try to stand, little knowing what would happen, even less knowing how he could take it.

Just before he made the attempt, his door opened.

"Mr. McGee!"

Tim looked up and saw a nurse standing there, her eyes wide with surprise.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Why is it so dark? I don't understand!"

The nurse smiled encouragingly at him and approached the bed.

"It's okay, Mr. McGee. Don't worry. You're not ready to try standing just yet. Lay back."

Tim resisted her kindly restraining arms, shaking his head.

"I don't understand what's going on. I don't..."

"Your surgery went fine, Mr. McGee. Everything is fine."

"But why is it dark outside? What happened? Did something go wrong?"

Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Oh, I see. Nothing went wrong. You were kept partially sedated for a few hours after your surgery and then, when we took you off sedation, I'm sorry, but we assumed you would be sleeping until the morning hours. That's the normal reaction."

"So...why keep me sedated? What happened?"

The nurse smiled at him. "Okay, Mr. McGee, before I answer that question, I want you to do something for me...a couple of things, actually."

"What?"

"First, lay back. Relax."

Tim managed a shaky smile and did as requested.

"Good. Now, I'm going to ask you to do some things that will seem ridiculous. Do them and humor me."

"Okay..."

She smiled and held up a piece of paper with a circle drawn on it.

"Touch the circle."

"What?"

"I told you it would seem ridiculous. Touch the circle."

Tim reached out and touched it without hesitation.

"Good."

The nurse ran Tim through a few other things, all of which made no sense, each time declaring his successful effort to be "good".

"What was all that?" he asked finally.

"You have successfully passed all the tests on cerebellar functioning we can perform at the moment."

"At the moment?"

"Considering your lack of balance, those tests will have to wait."

"Oh. So...why did you–?"

"Because what you weren't told before the surgery is that often, for a few hours, the cerebellum seems to shut down in the patient's head...meaning that you would have absolutely no control over your motor ability. Dr. Barter decided that, given your history, the negative experiences you've had, you'd be better off missing that part of your recovery. Dr. Barter performed the last tests just a few hours ago and you passed...which is why he took you off partial sedation."

"My cerebellum stopped working?"

"Yes. Briefly."

"And it's working now?"

"Yes. You passed all the tests."

"Those are pretty simple tests to prove whether or not my brain is working."

"It doesn't take much sometimes. It's all a matter of understanding the brain."

"And I'm okay?"

"Better than okay. Dr. Barter said that he's never had a surgery go so well."

"When will I know if I'll be able to walk?"

It was a sympathetic smile he received in reply.

"It's going to take some time. Your cerebellum has to heal, and you have to retrain yourself to walk. As you know, that's going to take therapy. Lots of it."

"Yeah. What would have happened if I had tried to stand up now?"

"I probably would have had to pick you up off the floor."

"You?" Tim asked with a slight smile, looking at her rather petite figure.

"Either me or some hired muscle. You feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"I'm just glad I decided to come and check."

Tim nodded. The nurse got up to leave and then turned back.

"Mr. McGee, I hope you don't think I'm probing, but I have a question."

"What?"

"You were an Observer."

"Yeah."

"What was it like?"

"What do you mean?"

The nurse stepped forward earnestly. "What was it like, watching over people from a distance, holding so many lives in your hands?"

"Why?" Tim asked.

"I was recruited...years ago. I refused, but I always wondered what I'd given up."

"You didn't give up anything. You kept a lot of what I lost."

"Do you regret it, then?"

"Yes...and no."

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know." Tim looked at his still-useless legs. "Learn how to walk, I guess."

The nurse smiled. "May I suggest something else?"

"What?"

"Get some sleep."

Tim laughed. "Okay." He settled back, his mind much more at ease and let his eyes close.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The nurse walked out of Tim's room and walked down the hall to an empty room. She sat down on a bed and pulled out a phone. Dialing quickly, she connected and gave a password. She was given access.

"_Yes?"_

"The surgery was successful."

"_Good. Any sign of future action?"_

"None as yet from him. He seems content to take it in small chunks right now."

"_What about the others?"_

"I haven't heard."

"_All right. Thank you."_

The nurse disconnected and then walked out of the room and continued her rounds.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a small group of men and women who entered the conference room at an undisclosed location. As was required, everything about the meeting was secret from the date and time to the names of the members. All were known by face, but not by name. Access was gained via a series of passwords, some of which changed daily. It was all part of the security.

"How are the plans progressing?"

"Gaining ground in the West, particularly in the less densely-populated areas where there's never been much need."

"Here in the East?"

"Less, but there are some signs of progress."

"Such as?"

"NCIS of all places. They may be the group that starts the ball rolling."

"Interesting. What about the statistics?"

"Showing improvement...slightly. This year may prove to be the lynchpin."

"Wishful thinking or logic?"

"Can't it be both?"

"I doubt it."

Soft chuckles around the room.

"Requests are definitely down."

"How many withdrawals?"

"Only a few, but that could change."

"All right. Keep me informed."

"What about the President?"

"He is in agreement."

There were a few other items of business and then they withdrew as silently as they had come.

All but one. One stayed behind and looked around the room that had taken over so much of his life. How could he have known how much time it would have taken from him?

A wry smile crossed his face. He might have a different handbook than the rank and file Observers, but the first rule was still the same:

_The Observer will not put any value on his own life. He must be willing to give up life, freedom, property, anything required if necessary in order to do his job. If, at any time, his life is in danger, he will give it up without thought. If at any time he attempts to preserve anything of his own at the expense of the life or comfort or wishes of his charge, he will be fired._

If only that were the case for him. He would dearly love to be fired. However, he had promised to uphold the ultimate purpose of the Observer program and he would not shirk his responsibilities.

...even when he had to look at the suffering of others and do nothing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim awakened the next morning, he felt much more at ease than he had with his abrupt awakening during the night. Dr. Barter came in and apologized for the fact that the sedation had worn off so quickly. Tim felt some resentment about being kept in the dark about the side effects of his surgery, but he couldn't help but admit that Dr. Barter had been right about his likely reaction.

So what happened next was settling into his therapy which would last for months. For the first week, Tim wanted few visitors as he tried to adjust his mind to the new possibilities confronting him. That desire didn't last...particularly with Abby encouraging Tim to open up to the others. He promised to think about it, but he was still unsure.

Why would so many people really want to know someone like him? He was a nobody...a voice. Without his position as an Observer, he really didn't have anything to offer.

In his mind his only worth had been as a disembodied voice.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Okay, Tim, let's get started."

Tim looked skeptically, first at Ian, his physical therapist, and then at the various things he was setting out: two chairs, one with arms and one without; a footstool; the walkway.

"What's all this for?" he asked.

"This is where we figure out just what we're going to do with you."

"With chairs and a footstool?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Tim smiled unwillingly. In the few days since his surgery, he had begun to feel as though this was really a trick. How could such a simple thing result in his being able to walk again?

"We've been giving you a lot of tests the last day or so. This is just the last one."

"Okay...what is it?"

"We're going to test your static and dynamic balance."

"How?"

"In a few different ways. This is the Berg Balance Scale. We'll be testing sitting to standing, standing unsupported..."

"I'll fail that one."

Ian didn't respond, just continued with his list. "...sitting with back unsupported, standing to sitting..."

"I'm good at falling," Tim interjected.

"...transfers, standing unsupported with your eyes closed, and then with your feet together, various reaching and turning tasks, and some final standing poses."

Tim tried to cover his apprehension.

"Why bother? You know I can't do most of that right now."

"Do I?" Ian asked. "I haven't seen you perform these tasks. How many of them have you actually tried? Or have you just assumed that you wouldn't be able to do them?"

"I've lived with this for a lot of years," Tim said. "I know what I can do."

"Correction: You know what you _could_ do before. This is all new, Tim. ...and yes, you won't have much improvement yet, most likely, but we have to start somewhere...and if we have a baseline, then we can more accurately gauge your improvement..._when_ it happens."

Tim tried to smile...but this time he couldn't.

"Scared?"

He nodded without speaking.

"Don't be. It's all up from here. Even when you plateau...you don't go back down. Now, after we finish this first part, we'll move on to the Dynamic Gait Index."

"Again, I can't walk without falling over!" Tim said.

"_Again_, you have to start somewhere," Ian said.

Tim looked down and bit his lip.

"Tim, when was the last time you actually asked for help?"

"Just a few weeks ago."

"And before that?"

"...a few years."

"Okay. You need to let go of that. I know that you were used and betrayed by your doctor, but that's not what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to help you walk, and you need to, not only believe that it's possible, but also trust someone other than yourself. You can't do this alone."

"I know."

"Good. Will you trust me?"

"I'll try."

"Okay... now, the whole point of these tests is to see how good your balance is. So with every task, you need to focus on maintaining your balance for as long as you can. I'll be timing most of the tasks and then marking down your times. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Now, I'm assuming that you'll be falling over in quite a few cases. If you don't, I'll be pleasantly surprised, but if you do, I'll be here to help catch you...and we're on a mat so that it won't hurt. ...nothing but your pride."

Tim grimaced. "I don't know if my pride can stand it."

"Well, get over that. No one is here to see you except me."

"Okay."

Ian moved Tim to one of the chairs and sat him down.

"First things first."

"What?"

"Please, stand up. Try not to use your hands for support."

Tim took a deep breath and tried to stand up. He struggled, but without his hands, he could _not_ get himself upright. Finally, he looked at Ian and grabbed the armrests and then levered himself upright. It took a lot of effort, but he was finally standing.

"All right. Now, please stand for two minutes without holding on."

Tim wanted to say that this was pointless because his legs were already trembling, but he didn't. He began to waver after only a few seconds and he had to grab onto Ian to stabilize himself a few times before he was able to stand for more than ten seconds.

"Okay." Ian helped him sit down again but with his back not touching the back of the chair. "Now, sit with your arms folded for two minutes."

Relieved, Tim did so with minimal trouble. There was a bit of wavering near the end of the two minutes, but it didn't affect him too much.

Ian said nothing in comment. Tim had no idea how he was doing.

"Okay. Now, let's get you up again." He helped Tim stand up and stabilize himself. "Please, sit down."

There were no other instructions which surprised Tim. So he tried to sit down without using his hands, but as he began to go down, he felt out of control and, instinctively, his hands grabbed the arms to control his descent.

"Okay." Ian moved the chair without armrests over beside the other chair and moved Tim to it. "Now, transfer to the other chair."

Tim tried to make the shift, but while he understood what to do, he couldn't get his body to do it. Finally, he managed to get up, but he had to hold the armrests of the other chair tightly to keep from falling over.

"Now, transfer back to the first chair."

With the armrests, Tim did a reasonable job of pushing himself upright, but as he tried to make the transfer, he lost his balance and began to fall. Instantly, Ian was beside him helping him sit down. Tim flushed in embarrassment, but again, Ian said nothing in comment. Instead, he helped Tim stand again and then stood back.

"Please, close your eyes and stand still for ten seconds."

Tim closed his eyes and instantly began to feel unstable. As he began to waver, he felt a light hand helping him. That touch was all it took to ground him enough for those ten seconds. He began to sink down onto the chair again, but Ian held him upright this time.

"Now, place your feet together and stand without holding on."

It was hard to move his feet as instructed, and Tim felt as though he was going to fall over. He managed to get them into position but it was only a few seconds before he had to have Ian keeping him upright.

It was only a few minutes of these tests and Tim was feeling tired. He sank down onto the chair.

"Why is this so hard?"

"Because you haven't worked your brain like this in a long time. It takes concentration. Besides, a common symptom of cerebellar dysfunction is weakness and fatigue. Don't worry. Okay, next one."

Tim completely failed most of the last few tests. He couldn't reach out without falling over. Retrieving an object from the floor was impossible. He could look back over his shoulder, but turning in a circle defeated him...as did the last few standing poses.

...and once all the tests were done and Ian let him sit while he filled out the forms, Tim felt exhausted. The effort involved in doing what most people took for granted was humiliating.

"Ian?" Tim asked.

"Yeah?"

"Is this normal?" Tim flushed a little at the plaintive tone in his question.

Ian looked up and smiled. "Not for how you want to be, but normal for someone with moderate-to-severe cerebellar ataxia. You also seem to have a slight sensory ataxia which is not uncommon. No part of the brain functions completely independently and overlapping is normal in these situations."

Ian handed him a water bottle and Tim drank gratefully. After a few minutes of resting, Ian stood and began setting up for the next battery. Tim groaned.

"Don't worry. This one is shorter. There are only eight parts."

"But it's all about walking, isn't it?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it, Tim. You already know that you're going to have trouble with it. So do I. Let's just see where we're going to be starting from."

"Okay."

"Good." Ian pointed to the marked out walkway. "This is twenty feet long, fifteen inches wide. We'll be using it for the first few tests. If you feel like you're going to fall, feel free to try and support yourself. I'll be watching to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

Tim grimaced again.

"That's the spirit," Ian said with a grin.

Tim laughed a little.

"And that's even better. Okay. Walk at your normal speed from here to the next mark."

Tim didn't want to do this. He already knew that he was going to fall. He always had in the past and he hadn't even started therapy yet. He was going to fall. ...but Ian was waiting and so Tim maneuvered himself into an upright position and took a step...more of a shuffle really. Two more steps and his legs were spreading into the wide gait that was all he could ever manage. One more step and he was grasping at the wall. The last step...and he fell, but not all the way. Ian caught him before he could completely collapse. Nowhere near the mark on the floor.

Instead of helping him back to the beginning, Ian got Tim up again.

"Okay, I'll help you the rest of the way."

"What's the point?"

"Completeness. Humor me, Tim."

A slow stagger and Tim was at the mark. That's how it was with all the tests. Tim just couldn't manage the walking, and by the time he finished, he was tired and sweaty...and discouraged. Ian helped him back to his wheelchair and Tim simply sagged down in it, breathing heavily...and feeling embarrassed by how little he could do.

Ian was encouraging and didn't seem concerned by Tim's lack of ability, but still...

"Excuse me."

The voice at the door to the room sounded British which was odd enough that Tim looked up...and then away to hide his flushed face.

"Yes?" Ian asked.

"I'm looking for Dr. Pocock. They directed me here, I believe."

"No, Dr. Pocock's office is down the hall and he's not in today."

"Oh, dear. I wish they had informed me of that fact downstairs."

"Tim, just sit tight for a second."

Tim nodded.

"It's all right, Tim. You're doing fine."

Tim let out a disbelieving chuckle.

"You are." Then, Ian walked over to the door.

"Perhaps you could help me, then. My name is Dr. Mallard. I was sent here for a conference with Dr. Pocock. It was scheduled days ago."

"Hmmm...can you wait for a couple of minutes?"

"Certainly."

"Okay." Ian looked back. "Tim, can you hang out here while I sort this out?"

"Yeah," Tim said listlessly.

"I'll be right back."

"Sure."

Tim rested his chin on his hand and sighed.

"Hard day?"

Tim glanced over at the man in the doorway.

"Not for normal people."

"Well, if it's you who is experiencing it, then it doesn't matter what it would be for others."

"I guess not."

"May I ask what your trouble is?"

"My head and my legs don't work right."

Tim looked over and saw the man staring at him curiously.

"What's your name?"

"Tim."

"McGee?"

Now, it was Tim's turn to stare.

"How did you know?"

"What serendipity!"

"Why?"

"Because I've been eager to meet you!"

"Who are _you_?"

"Of course, where are my manners? I'm Dr. Mallard. If others mentioned me, they probably called me Ducky."

"_You're_ Ducky?" Tim asked in surprise.

"Yes. Shocked?"

"A little. Why are you so interested in meeting me?"

Ducky walked over to Tim. "Because you are a singularly interesting man."

"Why? I'm not doing anything important right now."

"Important? You're getting back your ability to walk. I'd call that _very_ important."

Tim shook his head. "It's only going to affect me. It doesn't matter to anyone else. What's so great about that?"

Ducky looked at him with a faintly puzzled expression.

"You have a muddled view of what is important, I think."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you can't gauge your importance on something so mundane as how much a given activity matters to others."

"Then how am I supposed to gauge it?" Tim asked, a little suspicious.

"Well, now, I'm not sure I could adequately answer that question...but one's value does not depend on outward perceptions."

"Yeah, right."

"Actually, based on what little I know of you, I would think you would understand that almost intuitively."

"Why?"

"Because you have spend a great deal of your life doing a task which was not only often thankless but also depended upon your ability to do your job well...not upon whether or not other people found what you were doing important. After all, very few knew of your occupation."

"I don't have that job anymore, Ducky," Tim said. "I don't have anything...except for months of trying to learn how to walk again...and who knows how well that work will out?"

"No one, I gather...including you. Why assume it won't?"

"I'm not, but I don't want to delude myself again."

"Ah...I see. You've been disappointed before."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?" Tim asked.

"Only if it's working."

Tim couldn't help but smile at the hapless grin on Ducky's face.

"Is it?"

"Not really."

"Too bad. I'll have to try again later."

"Can I ask you something, Ducky?" Tim asked.

"Of course."

"Agent DiNozzo and Agent David both have said they wanted to get to know me. You seem interested as well. ...but I don't get why you would be. I'm just a guy in a wheelchair. I don't have a job. I'm not a productive member of society anymore. I failed at my last job. I'm kind of a wimp. I don't...really have friends. My hobbies are limited. What in the world could you possibly want to know about me?"

"It might surprise you, but I find you to be an intriguing person...if for no other reason than that you have done an admirable job of keeping Jethro safe, a challenge in and of itself..._and_ done so at the expense of much of your own comfort."

"It's not such a big thing. There are hundreds of Observers."

"Yes, there are...and if each are as passed over as you, that is a tragedy."

Tim didn't know what to say in response to that. He was already feeling awkward about the whole conversation. Being the focus of someone's attention, hearing so many positive statements that seemed to be without real foundation...it was enough to sap Tim of his already-meager ability to converse.

"So...do you have a story about this?"

"Pardon?"

"Abby said that you have ten stories for any experience I could possibly dream up."

"She grossly exaggerates my talents, I'm afraid."

"So...no story?"

Ducky pulled up one of the chairs Tim had been using and sat down. "Well, now, I didn't say that."

Tim smiled.

"It's not a particularly happy story, but I think it nicely contributes to why I wish to know you."

"Okay..."

"There was a story written more than 30 years ago called 'Cipher in the Snow'. Do you know it?"

Tim shook his head.

"A teenager's parents divorce and he begins to withdraw from those around him. No one cares enough to know him. No one notices him. He is...a cipher. One day, he gets off the school bus, alone as always, collapses in the snow and dies. No cause is known for his death, and a teacher at his school is asked to give the eulogy. ...but she feels unable because, although this cipher listed her as his favorite teacher, she doesn't know him. Barely recognizes him beyond his name. There are not even ten people from his school who know him well enough to attend his funeral. He died because he was unknown, uncared for. Alone. No one deserves that fate."

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"That's a little melodramatic, isn't it?"

Ducky smiled. "Perhaps. But every man, woman and child on this earth deserves to be known and appreciated. It's not about fame. It's not about being important. It's about being cared for. Every human being has a story worth knowing. You are no exception. No matter who you are or what you choose to do with your life, I will count myself lucky if you allow me the privilege of knowing you."

"Dr. Mallard?" Ian called.

"Yes?"

"I got a hold of Dr. Pocock. He apologizes that he completely forgot about the meeting with you. He's on the phone in my office. Just out in the hall."

"Thank you kindly." Ducky stood up and held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure."

"Are you sure?" Tim asked.

"Most definitely."

Tim hesitated and then shook his hand.

"It was...nice to meet you."

Ducky smiled and walked out of the room. Ian went with him. Tim was alone for a moment. He looked around this room that would take up so much of his time for weeks, if not months.

He took a deep breath, scooted to the edge of the wheelchair, grasped the arms and pushed himself up to his feet. He was unsteady, unstable...uncertain, but he was on his feet for a few precious seconds before he had to sit down again.

There was a soft sound of applause behind him and he turned to find Ian standing there with a smile on his face.

"First step," he said.

"How many are there?" Tim asked.

"As many as it takes."

One more deep breath.

"Okay. What's the next one?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Two weeks later..._

Gibbs stepped off the elevator at NCIS. It was the first time he'd been back since he and Tim had escaped from Cumberland. He had ignored the semi-subtle indications that he needed to get a new Observer. If there was any one word that described him in situations like this, it was _stubborn_. He didn't want to settle for another Observer. Tim had been the only person he'd trusted and he had no intention of starting the process again. Today was the day he was ready to put his plans in motion. He hadn't talked to Tim yet, but he figured it would be better to have a green light on his idea first.

He was about to head up to Vance's office when he saw someone sitting at his desk.

"Stan?"

Stan turned around.

"Hey, Gibbs. What's up?"

"I could ask you that. I haven't seen you in years."

Stan smiled and shook Gibbs' hand.

"Just got called back in. You know how it is. Agents Afloat aren't as needed as land-based agents. Not my ideal, but...you do what you have to, especially now."

"So how long you been on land?"

"Few years...I'm letting them move me around. The next best thing to Agent Afloat. How about you? I came here yesterday, and you weren't around. Actually, the rest of your team wasn't either. What's going on?"

Gibbs looked around. "It's a long story. Actually, I have to go talk to Vance. You around for a while?"

"A few hours I guess. I'm finding out where I have to go next."

Gibbs scrutinized Stan's face. "You're not looking so good, Stan. Anything wrong?"

"Not particularly, just stress."

"I'll be back down. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll just hang out at your desk. If DiNozzo shows up, I'll tell him I got promoted."

Gibbs laughed and ran up the stairs. He got to Vance's office and took a moment to knock before walking in.

Vance looked up in surprise.

"Agent Gibbs...this is a surprise. What brings you to my office...and with a knock? I take it that this is not about getting back to work?"

"Actually, it is."

Vance sighed. "If only I believed you."

Gibbs grinned. "I'm not getting another Observer."

"You have to."

Gibbs sat down.

"Not if you decide it's not necessary. I looked it up."

"In what?"

"I have a great source."

Vance sighed.

"I have a suggestion."

"What's that?" Vance asked warily.

"I have no interest in training another Observer. McGee will need a job."

"And? You want to have him be your Observer? He got fired, Gibbs."

"I know. I don't want him to be an Observer. He doesn't deserve that," Gibbs said seriously. "I want him to be an agent."

Vance's brow furrowed. "Isn't Mr. McGee confined to a wheelchair?"

"No. He was, but he's getting therapy now. He'll be able to walk."

"He'll be able to be a field agent?"

"No."

"Then, what are you asking me for, Gibbs?"

"I'm asking you to take me out of the Observer program and let me have McGee on my team."

"In what role?"

"As someone who can watch my back when needed and can investigate when it's possible for him. He's plenty smart enough. He's completely familiar with NCIS policies. He knows how think. We should have had him before. Years ago."

"You know what this would require?"

"Yes. Lovitz is okay with it. No one else in Headquarters has one...except you...as far as I know."

"In Headquarters, yes."

"That's all that's necessary. You just have to have one site willing to be a...trial run. Don't pretend that you like it either."

"I won't."

"Well?"

"I'll have to tell the Observers, and I don't know if they'll take it well."

"They're supposed to be protecting us. We do not grovel at their feet," Gibbs said. "If that's what they're wanting, we shouldn't have them at all."

Vance sighed.

"I'm not going back to it, Leon. I'm done. You want to fire me or cut our ties to the Observers?"

"Let me think about it."

"Really?"

"I'm going to think about it, Gibbs."

"And until then?"

"You're still not working here. Fill your time somewhere else."

"Understood."

"Good. Get out of here and let me think."

Gibbs grinned and stood up.

"Of course, Director."

Vance just rolled his eyes as Gibbs left the office. He headed back down the stairs and saw Stan still sitting at his desk.

"Hey, Stan, you want to grab lunch?"

"Sure. You buying?"

"Why not?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wow," Stan said. "That's crazy, Gibbs. It's a miracle you two got out of there alive."

"Wouldn't have worked without both of us."

"Still...and they were trying to get into the Observer system?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said nodding. "Killed at least five cops just to do it, too. And they almost made it."

"So how's your Observer now?"

"Don't have one."

"Really? How are you getting away with that?"

"I'm not. Yet."

Stan smiled. "What's your brilliant plan for keeping your job and not getting an Observer?"

"I have my ways."

"Oh, come on, Gibbs! Who am I going to tell?"

"I'm trying to get NCIS out of the Observer program."

Stan sat back in his chair. "What?"

"NCIS needs to pull out of the Observer program."

"Why?"

"Because what they do to their employees is wrong, Stan. They fired McGee because _I_ got captured...and that wasn't anything he had done wrong. They require everything of their employees. Every second of their lives...and they don't let them place any value on themselves. McGee bought into all that. He still sees nothing valuable in his existence because he's not actively saving people. All his work to walk...he thinks he's being selfish by wanting it. I'm trying to break him out of that, but it's not easy to counteract ten years of brainwashing."

"Brainwashing? That's a little strong, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. McGee was recruited because a doctor knew he had no other prospects. He _knew_ McGee had nothing else he was looking forward to. He manipulated him! Yeah, he had the choice to accept it or not, but still...Stan, for all the good the Observers do...there's too much wrong with it. We need to start learning how to take care of ourselves again."

Stan was looking at him skeptically.

"You've bought into it, too, haven't you," Gibbs said. "You think we need them."

"How many times did _your_ Observer save your life?" Stan asked. "How many times, Gibbs? Are you going to say that none of that was worth it?"

"It's not worth the tradeoff, Stan."

"Maybe you're right. I'm not high enough to have an Observer, but I'll admit that I've envied you the protection...the _security_."

"It's not worth it," Gibbs said again.

"I'll take your word for it," Stan said and then looked at his watch. "Oh, I've got a meeting over at Norfolk tonight. I'd better get going." He stood. "It was nice to see you again, Gibbs. It's been too long."

Gibbs watched Stan walk away and realized that he'd never got the chance to ask what was going on that had made Stan look like he hadn't seen the sun in a while and had lost too much weight. It had all been about what had happened with Gibbs. When had Stan become so skilled at diverting conversations...and when had it become necessary?

_x.x.x.x.x.x.x_

_Two weeks later..._

"That looks like a yoga mat," Tim said.

Ian smiled. "It is."

"I'm going to do yoga?"

"It's an excellent way to build strength and balance...both of which you need. We're just adding this in to the PNF exercises you've been doing already."

Tim sighed and nodded. He put the locks on his wheelchair and pushed himself upright.

"Come on, I can stand up now," he said. "...for about thirty seconds. All by myself."

"And that's good. So get yourself over to the mat and let's get started."

"I can't walk yet."

"So use the walker."

Tim looked at it.

"You've got the upper body strength to help yourself along. Take a chance, Tim."

"I don't want to need a walker."

"You have to start somewhere, Tim. Remember? Don't think that where you start out is where you'll end up."

"Don't you get tired of saying stuff like that?"

Ian looked at him mildly. "If you'd start believing me, I wouldn't _have_ to."

Tim sighed and grasped the walker. Slowly, feeling shaky, he got one foot in front of the other in order to navigate the ten feet between the chair and the mat.

"Okay, Tim. Just try to kneel down. I'm right here to help you."

What they had found over the last month was that a lot of Tim's balance problems were focused on any moment when he had to change position. The initial shift required too much control and Tim would falter and fall. When Ian got him started, he was able to stagger (couldn't really be called walking yet) for a few paces...but there was no real control.

True to form, as Tim began the process of kneeling, he lost his balance and Ian had to guide him down to the mat.

"I've got you. It's all right."

"Doesn't feel all right," Tim said. "It doesn't feel all right."

"I know...but that doesn't change the fact that it is."

"I hope you don't expect any of those...vigorous standing poses," Tim said.

"I don't...and you shouldn't either."

"Right."

"Okay. We're going to start with some simple seated poses, focused mostly on your breathing."

"I know how to breathe."

Ian smiled. "I know you do. This is to get you more relaxed and in the right frame of mind."

Tim took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just...it's frustrating."

"Now _that_ I can understand, Tim. You're not making progress as fast as you want to."

Tim nodded.

"It'll come. You have an fMRI today, don't you?"

"Yeah. Dr. Barter wants to see how the healing is going."

"From my perspective, it's going fine, Tim."

"Thanks."

"Now...let's have you start in a simple cross-leg position..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was nearly evening by the time Tim was able to return to his apartment. It seemed too big without the Observer equipment...which had mysteriously vanished sometime during his hospitalization. In its place was a walker, a mat, and a couple of other objects he was supposed to use during his independent workouts. He hadn't said so to anyone, but it seemed indicative of just how narrowly-focused his life had become. The Observer equipment had linked him in to satellites, cameras, radios...had connected him to the outside world, had given him a purpose.

What he had now was a daily focus on whether or not he'd be able to walk...which he still couldn't.

Jethro came running up to him as he rolled himself inside. Tim smiled at the enthusiastic greeting.

"Hey, Jethro. How was _your_ day?"

Jethro barked happily.

"You ready to go out?"

More barking.

"Okay. I'm still in the chair, but let's go."

The only difference between how Tim had been before and how he was now was that he didn't have the braces anymore. He had refused to use them now that supposedly they weren't going to be necessary. No leaning on crutches if he didn't have to.

He gathered his things and headed out the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jethro enjoyed his time in the park, and Tim enjoyed watching him run wildly around, barking at birds, sniffing benches, bushes and trees...and every so often running back to Tim wanting praise for his prowess. The closest to contentment Tim felt now was out here with his dog.

"Nice evening."

Tim looked back over his shoulder and saw Gibbs walking across the grass.

"Yeah. Jethro's sure enjoying it."

"You aren't?"

"Oh, I am...mostly. What brings you here?"

"Thought you might be out here tonight."

"Why?"

"You had a scan today."

"Is there a correlation?"

"Seems to be."

Gibbs sat down on a picnic bench near Tim's wheelchair.

"How's it going?"

"I started doing yoga today. I'm really good at sitting and breathing. The other stuff...not so much."

"You'll get better."

"You seem so sure."

"I am."

"What am I going to do, Gibbs?" Tim asked, looking around the park instead of at the man beside him. "My whole life is centered around my therapy right now. What am I going to do?"

"Get a job."

"Doing what?"

"NCIS?"

"Why are you bringing that up again?"

"Notice anything different, McGee?"

That brought Tim's gaze onto Gibbs. It only took a second or two to realize what Gibbs was saying. The bandage might as well have been a neon light.

"Where's your com?" he asked.

"Got it removed."

"How? You can't! You have to be a part of the program once you start!"

"Unless the head of my agency decides to embark on a trial program at one of the field offices."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I refused to get another Observer and convinced Vance not to fire me."

"You shouldn't do that, Gibbs," Tim said, almost appalled. As much as he wished he could still be Gibbs' Observer, he still wanted Gibbs to be safe. "Who's going to watch your back?"

"You are."

Tim leaned back in his chair. "What?"

"You are...if you're willing...and if you're willing to get training once your physical therapy is done."

"Training? For _what_?"

"To be an agent."

"Don't make a joke like that, Gibbs," Tim said. "It's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

"I can't be agent. I can't walk!"

"Not yet, but I'm not talking about you being a typical agent."

"A special needs agent, then?"

"If you want to look at it that way."

"What way are _you_ looking at it, then?"

"A new type of agent, one that serves a number of functions, including watching _all_ our backs when we go out into potentially-dangerous situations."

Tim couldn't say anything at first. Mostly, he just sat there with his mouth open.

"You interested?" Gibbs asked.

"What...k-k-kind of training?" Tim asked, annoyed that his stammer was coming out now.

"FLETC...specially-adapted to what you're able to do, but still covering all the required ground."

"I'm...not anywhere...near...that..."

"I know. I wanted to run it by you."

"But you already got the com removed. What if I say no?"

"You won't."

"Gibbs!"

"Are you going to say no, McGee?"

"What if I can't? What if I can't hack it? What if I'm...not...ever good enough for...for that?"

"You're good enough. I've already seen that. You just need training."

"You...want...why?"

"Believe it or not, McGee, I think you'd be a good addition to the team...in _any_ capacity. I don't want someone else to get a hold of you...or for you to start thinking you're not good enough. You are."

"I...don't...know what to say."

"Don't say anything right now. You've got a lot of work ahead of you. Just keep it in mind."

Tim nodded, not really knowing what he was agreeing to. Gibbs smiled and stood up.

"Don't stay out too late."

"You're not my mother, Gibbs," Tim said, finally able to speak coherently.

"I know. They coming this weekend?"

"Just like every weekend."

"Good."

"Yeah..."

"See you later, McGee."

Gibbs started to walk away. Tim watched him and decided that he couldn't just sit there.

"Gibbs!"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you tell me this now?"

"Thought you might need something else to think about."

Then, Gibbs headed off.

Tim watched him go and sat where he was for a few minutes before calling Jethro back.

_Me? At NCIS? An agent? How could it be possible?_

His mind was in a swivet all the way home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"NCIS is looking more promising."

"When will you know for sure?"

"When the time is right."

"By the next meeting?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. We can't rush these things."

"Keep me informed."

"As always."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_Two weeks later..._

Gibbs had to admit it, even if it was only to himself, that the first time he left NCIS without an Observer was fairly nerve-wracking. He didn't show anything outwardly, but his senses were on high alert as he walked around the crime scene. He usually didn't have Tim at his beck and call on routine assignments like this...but he'd grown so used to having him there if needed.

"How's it going, Boss?" Tony asked with an entirely-too-knowing expression on his face.

"Get back to work, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, annoyed that his nerves were showing.

"Yes, Boss," Tony said with a grin.

Eight years of having instant backup when called for. It had a way of conditioning a person. Gibbs was irritated that _he_ had somehow fallen into that description. Conditioned to expect help. For all that he'd hated the idea in the beginning, for all that he'd resisted it, nearly lost his job because of it...he now missed the security, as Stan had described it.

_I have to get used to this. I lived like this a lot longer than I did with a voice in my ear. I can deal with doing things for myself again._

Easier said than done.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Come on, Tim. You're not even _trying_!" Ian said.

Tim toppled onto the mat and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Gibbs was working again.

"Hey, Tim...what's wrong? Your focus has been a lot better."

Tim looked over at Ian and wiped his face. He would never have guessed that _yoga_ would wear him out like this.

"Gibbs...he's...back to work...without an Observer."

Ian smiled. "Well, guess what. Agent Gibbs seems like a very capable person...and he's not a child. You focus on what you can do and don't worry that he can't do his job."

"It's not about doing his job."

"I know, but, Tim, I know you don't like to hear this or think it...but there's nothing you can do about that except get better yourself."

"I know." Tim sighed and rolled back over onto his stomach. "Where was I?"

"Downward-facing dog. You're almost ready to try the Sun Salutation."

Tim pushed his body into the triangle-shaped position, shaking with concentration as he struggled to keep himself from losing his balance. He panted with the effort...and then laughed breathlessly.

"Going from standing to this without falling over? Right. I'm not there yet."

"Stop expecting perfection and you might be surprised at what you _can_ do, Tim."

Tim wobbled...and toppled back to the mat. He panted for a few seconds.

"It doesn't feel like it's getting any better."

Ian actually laughed. "You don't really believe that."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're a lot smarter than that, Tim...and you're _observant_."

Tim stayed silent...and it was clear that Ian took that as a challenge.

"You don't believe me? Okay, then. Let's do it."

"Do what?"

"The Sun Salutation. I'll help you when you need it, but you've now learned and can more or less perform all the poses."

"Ian..."

"Nope. Come on. Upsy-daisy."

Ian held out his hand and Tim took it reluctantly, allowing Ian to pull him to his feet.

"Okay. Mountain pose."

Tim felt Ian's hands steadying him as he fought to keep his balance. Knowing he couldn't get out of this, he put his palms together in front of his heart.

"Inhale. Arms overhead," Ian prompted, his hands on Tim's waist, giving only barely the support Tim needed.

Tim lifted his hands and felt his balance falter.

"Exhale. Fold at the waist."

This was the part he still couldn't manage on his own at all. That shifting of balance required. Still, he exhaled and began to bend. He wasn't even halfway down when he was no longer in control, but Ian didn't say anything. He helped Tim get into the appropriate position.

"Okay. Just hold here for a moment. Get your bearings."

Tim inhaled and exhaled a few times.

"Now, inhale and step your right leg back into lunge pose."

Another shift of balance. Ian helped.

"Exhale. Step the left leg back. Inhale. Exhale and lower yourself to stick pose."

Tim did this part entirely on his own. With both his hands and his feet on the floor, he could manage to keep his balance.

"Okay. This is the part you haven't tried yet. Inhale. Upward dog."

Tim did so...knowing what came next.

"Exhale and lift yourself to downward dog."

Ian's hands were gone and Tim slowly lifted his hips until he was in a pretty pitiful downward dog, but he got there on his own.

"Okay. Inhale and step the right foot forward. Back to lunge pose."

Tim wasn't sure about this. Lifting one of his feet off the floor meant more pressure in the shifting balance on the rest of his limbs.

"Come on, Tim. Next pose."

Tim inhaled and lifted his right foot, pulling it forward...and losing his balance. ...but Ian was right there and kept him from falling.

"Exhale. Bring the left foot forward, back to standing forward bend."

Again, Tim needed Ian's help for this part.

"Inhale and stand up, bringing your arms overhead."

That seemed impossible from where Tim was standing, but he tried. ...and failed. Ian had to lift his torso up.

"Exhale. Back to mountain pose."

Tim managed to bring his arms back down.

"Good."

"Good? Are you kidding?"

"No, Tim. I'm not. The only place you really needed my help was in moving from mountain pose to standing forward bend and back again. Everything else? I only had to help you a little bit. You're getting better. Slowly, but surely. You just have to keep trying. ...and Tim, you need to believe that it's possible. If you don't...this is all a waste of time and you'll never get as far as you could get if you had faith...both in yourself and in your value."

"We done?"

Ian smiled. "Yes. Tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

"I know. Now...go out and have some fun for once in your life."

"I've had fun before."

Ian laughed as Tim got back to the walker and then clumsily got back to his wheelchair.

"Yeah, I'm sure...but in the last ten years? I'll bet those moments were few and far between. So go and have some fun."

"Doctor's orders?"

"Well...your PT's orders."

"Okay."

Tim rolled out and headed home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Four hours later, Tim found himself in a strange situation, one he wouldn't have thought possible.

He was sitting at a bar (well, in a booth in a bar), his wheelchair carefully stowed away, sandwiched between Abby and Tony, surrounded by NCIS people. He still wasn't sure how it had happened. When he'd reached his apartment, he'd taken Jethro out as usual and then, on a whim, had called Abby to see if she wanted to do anything. She had reluctantly told him that she was working on a new case and that she couldn't...but then had said that everyone was going to get together later to "unwind"...and he should come.

Tim had intended to say no. He had planned on it. Hanging out with a bunch of people who were still mostly strangers to him was not on his list of fun things to do. He had opened his mouth to refuse and what had come out instead was "Sure!". He was positive that he had managed to shock Abby as much as he had shocked himself.

After he had hung up and was waiting for Abby to come and get him, he figured out why he had said yes. It was because he knew what he would start thinking about if he didn't go out and do something. He would start thinking about the man he had killed...about how it had felt, and he didn't want to think about that.

Now, he was looking around at the group, not participating in the conversation so much as taking in the easy camaraderie they obviously felt for each other. It was rather nice to see. He wasn't exactly a _part_ of it, but he was there. He was with them...and, all in all, it wasn't half bad.

As he sat there, he began to wonder what his life might have been like if he _had_ been able to walk again, if he _had_ been able to become the NCIS agent he'd always wanted to be. Hanging out with these people as a real colleague, not as a stranger, being a part of this world rather than an observer of it.

_What would it have been like to be one of them from the beginning?_ Tim wondered to himself.

"Hey, McGee...you're getting pretty quiet over there. Plotting a takedown?" Tony asked.

Tim looked at him for a moment and then smiled.

"Just thinking."

"Well, stop it. You're giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"The what?"

"The heebie-jeebies. Watching a genius think is scary stuff. You could be getting ready to take over the world and have stored everything in your memory chips."

Tim blinked at Tony a few times. He couldn't decide if Tony was funny or merely annoying. He supposed he needed to get to know him more before he made a decision. The truth was probably somewhere in the middle.

"Don't worry," Tim said finally. "If I do decide to take over the world, it'll be so fast you won't know what hit you." Then, he gave a winning smile.

To his surprise, Tony guffawed loudly and punched him in the shoulder.

"Good one, McGenius!"

Tim laughed in response to the nickname. Tony had been trying them out ever since Tim had allowed them to start talking to him. He said that McGee wasn't exciting enough. With what Tim had done over the years, he needed something cooler.

It was that kind of statement that Tim hadn't figured out how to take just yet. It was obvious that Tony thought he was being funny...but Tim was quite content with his name and didn't see anything wrong with it. However, he hadn't said that or anything like it. He just smiled tolerantly and accepted it while he tried to figure out what Tony meant by it. He'd never considered himself to be completely socially-backward, but Tony baffled him.

"Next round is on me," Tony announced. "What'll ya have, McGee?"

"Uh...nothing."

"Oh, come on! I'm buying."

"Just...white wine, then. I'm not much of a drinker."

"None of us are tonight, Timothy, I assure you. We all have to work in the morning," Ducky said, looking at Tony and Ziva with mock severity. They grinned unrepentantly.

"This is the last round, Ducky. I promise," Tony said.

Another round and then they headed out together. Ziva grabbed Tim's chair for him. Tony paid the tab, and Ducky walked beside Tim, telling yet another story about his first experience with American fraternities.

Abby had been the designated driver and so she drove Tim back to his apartment.

"Did you have fun, Tim?"

"Yeah."

Abby laughed. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not!"

Abby raised an eyebrow.

"Okay...I am. ...but I did. Only..."

"What?"

"What's with Agent...with Tony? I don't get him."

Abby laughed. "He's just trying to let you into the NCIS club. He teases everyone."

"But this is...not the kind of teasing I'm used to."

"He's not trying to be mean."

"I know that much. I just...don't find much of it very funny."

"You could tell him to stop."

"I can't do that. It would be awkward. I'm still figuring them all out. I was friends with you because we just met and decided that we liked each other. The others...it's just different...and weird."

Abby pulled up to Tim's building and then put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"I get it...but I'm really glad you're letting us do things with you, Tim. If you ever want our help with your therapy..."

"No. I'm not ready for that...yet."

"Okay, but you can always ask us for help."

"I know."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Abby said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You're going to be great, Tim. I can't wait until you're a part of NCIS."

"Thanks, Abbs," Tim said and got out of the car.

He retrieved his wheelchair and waved to Abby before heading into his apartment.

He was just unlocking the door when he sensed someone behind him. He was afraid, but he didn't show it. He didn't turn around.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?"

The laugh was low...but unthreatening.

"Good questions. I'm from the Observers. I'd like to talk to you if I could."

Tim still didn't turn around.

"I don't work for the Observers anymore. I was fired. You people took my life from me and then took the life that I'd managed to carve out for myself. Why should I talk to you now?"

"So that I can explain to you the _real_ reason you were fired."

"The real reason?"

"Yes...but I can't say any more out here. You have to decide. Do you want to hear it or not?"

Tim unlocked his door.

"Come in." He rolled himself inside and then turned around. "Jethro?" he called out...and then was surprised when his visitor laughed as Jethro trotted into the room. "What's so funny?"

"Nice name. Coincidence?"

"No. Who are you? Answer or I'll sic Jethro on you."

The man lifted his hands up and walked out of the shadows into the light of the apartment.

"I'm Stan Burley...and I understand you more than you could possibly imagine."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Stan Burley...I've heard that name before."

"I'm not surprised. I worked with Gibbs for about five years before I left to do other things."

"Like what?" Tim asked, interested in spite of himself.

"Various agent positions...mostly Agent Afloat...until about five years ago."

"And then?"

"Then, I was..._recruited_ to be a part of the Observer Program."

Tim looked at Stan suspiciously now.

"You don't have a com."

"Nope. Not that kind of Observer."

"Then, what kind _are_ you?"

"I'm part of the...upper echelons, I guess you could say."

"That's easy to claim. How can I trust that you're telling the truth?"

Stan shrugged. "That's up to you. I can tell you everything I know about you if it will help, but I am who I say I am. I only wish I was lying."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you're not the only one who has to give up a lot in order to do your job. You're not the only one who feels hemmed in by the rules and you're not the only one who has been bitten by the draconian application of those rules."

"You still have a job," Tim pointed out.

"It's true, and if I could, I would give up that job in a heartbeat...but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because of what my job entails. Only someone who really hates his occupation could do what my mandate requires."

"And what is that?"

Stan smiled. "I have to get rid of the Observer Program."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs blew away the small splinters of wood from his latest project. There was a half-finished boat in the usual space, but Gibbs had set that aside for the moment. He'd managed to get a nice sturdy piece of bloodwood. It was hard to work with. He'd been carving for a few days now and wasn't even close to finished. However, the harder the wood, the better it would be.

Every time he had remembered Tim's discouragement about not being able to walk, Gibbs had wanted to find some way to help him out. There was so little he could do, but he was trying his best.

That's why he'd decided to make Tim a cane. If he really wasn't going to be able to get around without one, he might as well have a _good_ one. None of those hospital-issued metal canes. No, not for Tim. Tim needed the best. He deserved the best and that's what he would get.

...even if trying to carve the design was driving him crazy, currently.

He smiled to himself and bent back over the shaft that would eventually be a cane. Nothing worth doing was going to be easy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim looked at Stan in something akin to shock.

"What? ...but you just said that you _work_ for the Observer Program."

"It's true. I did...and I do. This is the part of the Observer Program that no one knows about...except a chosen few."

"I don't get it."

"Can I sit down?" Stan asked. "It's been a long day for me."

Tim gestured vaguely toward a chair.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Professional courtesy mostly. ...but partly because we have a common acquaintance in Gibbs...and that makes me feel somewhat required to let you in on a few things." Stan's eyes became shadowed for a moment. "Besides...there have been times when I was too late to do this."

"What do you mean?"

"Some people, when they're fired, move on. They are mostly relieved to be let go. The only reason they didn't quit was because they felt what they were doing was important. When they got fired, they simply got another job...and usually a better life. Others, though, when they lose their jobs...they lose everything they thought was worthwhile. Generally, the loss of their position as Observers is accompanied by the death of one of their charges. ...and some can't take it. Those are the ones I make an effort to find and talk to. ...but sometimes, I'm too late. Sometimes, all I can do is report their death to the police and vanish into the same pit of isolation almost all Observers live in."

"So...how does this fit into what you said about getting rid of the program?"

"It's built right in. You don't have the full set of rules governing the program. Only those of us at the very top do. The person who started the Observer Program knew that there was a _lot_ of potential for abuse of the system. He knew that it could turn into something corrupt far too easily. There's too much power in the hands of people without oversight. That's not what he wanted. What he wanted was something to get us through the worst years. So he built into it the mandate that all funding for the Observer Program be cut off twenty years after its inception. It's been nearly fifteen years since it began. I have five years left to get people to reject it. That's why you were fired."

"Because you want to get rid of the program? How does my losing my job help?"

Stan smiled, but it was a tired, world-weary smile.

"Think about it, Mr. McGee. What organization with a chance of survival allows for _no_ exceptions? The overly-harsh punishments, the incredibly-demanding schedule. These are things that are supposed to make people see how unviable the program is. ...and it's working. All over the country departments are pulling out of the program. Mostly in the more rural areas where it's never been as popular, but there are places, big cities even, where the police are deciding it's not worth the sacrifice. NCIS may just pave the way for the federal agencies to join in. Already, NCIS Headquarters is out. It's a trial run, and I really hope it succeeds."

"So what do you actually do?"

"I plant the seeds of doubt," Stan said. "I whisper in people's ears that there are other options. ...and I enforce the Observer rules, no matter how much I hate it. ...and I do hate it. I hate the shock. I hate the despair. I hate my hand in it...but I have to do it. We can't live dependent on a program like this. It was necessary for a while, but it can't be permanent."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"...how did _you_ get pulled into it?"

"By my old boss, former NCIS Director Tom Morrow. He's the one who got NCIS involved in the Observer Program. Then, when he left, it was noised about that he was joining DHS...but that was a cover. What really happened was that he joined this inner circle of the Observers with the charge to make sure that the program died. I was sucked into it a couple of years later. I've hated it from day one, but that's why I won't quit."

"Do you think this helps me?"

"I don't know. Does the truth always help? I don't know. I've been living with lies for so long...I hardly know which is better."

Tim saw now the exhaustion in every line of Stan's body. He was tired. He was disillusioned. Yes, he really did understand what Tim felt.

"The truth is better," Tim said...and then smiled. "I think."

Stan laughed.

"Always the qualifier." He straightened in his seat. "I do what I do because I believe it's necessary, not because I enjoy it. There are some members of the inner circle who occasionally suggest that we put off the end of it, but it can't happen. The funding will be cut off in five years and the program needs to be dead by then. The best-case scenario will be if people actively turn on us and _demand _the dissolution of the Observers."

"Isn't there a better way than to...to crush all these people?"

Stan shrugged. "If you know of one, please let me know. I didn't make the Observer rules. I can't change them, and I have to enforce them. If you know of a better way to make the Observers seem obsolete...without compromising what we're supposed to do... We can't let down our guards on the people we're supposed to protect. Even the end of the program is designed to protect the people who are supposed to protect us. I'm guessing that the person who first came up with this program looked at all the angles and couldn't see any other way. In a war, people die. You don't want it. You don't look for it to happen...but you know it will, and you deal with it as best you can."

"That's the justification?" Tim asked. "That's how you sleep at night?"

Stan gave that tired smile again. "I _don't_ sleep at night...not without...help. I don't think I_ will_ sleep at night until I can finally wash my hands of all this."

Tim was silent. He didn't know what to say. Stan did, however.

"This wasn't why I came. I didn't come here to tell you my sob story. I came to see that you were all right, to let you know that losing your job wasn't because you were incompetent. It wasn't because you failed. It was because your being fired brings us one step closer to fulfilling the ultimate mandate of the Observer Program. I don't know if that helps you, but it's the truth." Stan took a deep breath and stood. "That's all I had to say. Because of Gibbs...I thought you deserved to know more than just that."

Tim still didn't know what to say...but Stan didn't seem bothered by that.

"I've got to go. I have a meeting still to get to tonight." He turned to go.

"Wait!" Tim pushed himself to his shaky feet. "Stan. Wait."

Stan turned back. He smiled, seeing Tim on his feet.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me. I needed to know."

"You're welcome. Good luck with everything. I know you have a long fight ahead of you."

Tim's legs wobbled, forcing him to sit down again, but he looked at Stan, standing there, looking so worn out.

"Good luck to you, too. I think your fight is harder."

Stan smiled. "Longer, maybe. I don't think it'll be a lot harder."

"At least I'm fighting to improve something...even if it's only me."

"I'm fighting to improve something, too," Stan said and then turned and walked out of the apartment.

"But at what cost?" Tim asked softly.

He sat back in his chair for a while and then went to bed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan walked to his car and got inside. He sat for a few seconds and then started the engine. He had a long drive tonight.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** To all of you who noticed my goof in the previous chapter, I apologize. Rob Morrow is a fine actor, but he was never the director of NCIS. _Tom_ Morrow, on the other hand, was...at least on the show and Alan Dale did a wonderful job with him. My apologies on the error.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26<strong>

_Three months later..._

"Tim?" Ian asked.

Tim blinked and looked at his physical therapist.

"Yeah?"

"You can't have therapy if you're going to sit staring off into space."

Tim smiled slightly and then pursed his lips.

"What is it?" Ian asked.

"Have I plateaued?" Tim asked suddenly.

"I don't think so. Why?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't...seem to be walking yet."

Ian laughed. "Tim, it hasn't been that long yet. Stop worrying so much about whether or not you've stopped progressing. Just focus on the therapy. I'm not going to hide from you when we think you're done."

"It's not that." Tim looked at the walker he used more now.

"Then, what is it?"

"I'm...starting to...to want it. I'm starting to hope for it. ...and I don't want the rug pulled out from under me. Not again. All those years that Dr. Daniels promised that I'd get better...and I never did...and he meant it that way. I know you're not like that but...I'm afraid of it happening again. I just don't want to suddenly find out that things aren't going like they're supposed to."

Ian looked at him inscrutably for a few seconds and then seemed to come to a decision.

"All right, then, Tim. Let's do it."

"Do what?"

"We're going to run through those tests I gave you when we first started. We're going to see just how far you've come. Then, you can get a better sense of the amazing progress I'm seeing."

"Amazing? That seems like an exaggeration."

"It's not. I promise. Come on."

Ian set up the chairs as he had before. Tim looked at them with some trepidation...and some resignation as well. He remembered all to well just how badly he had done these tasks a few months ago.

"You ready?" Ian asked, challenge clear in his voice.

"Sure, I guess."

"Good. Now, stand up. Try not to use your hands for support..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Stan, you need to take a vacation."

Stan sat down wearily and looked at Morrow. He forced a smile.

"A vacation? How? There's always more work to be done, Tom. It's impossible."

Morrow shook his head.

"No. It's possible. You just choose not to. I appreciate your dedication, but..."

"The sooner my job is over, the better. I'll manage."

Morrow looked as though he wanted to argue but then he nodded.

"Where are you off to now?"

"Los Angeles. Dropping a few hints over there. I have a friend with LAPD. He has the ear of people who make decisions."

"How are things going in the NCIS arena?"

"They're progressing, although I think Gibbs is getting suspicious of me." Stan chuckled a bit. "He's started to notice that I'm redirecting conversations."

Morrow smiled. "He's smart. You could probably trust him with what you're doing if you need an outside ear. You know he won't blab about it."

Stan shook his head. "No...not because I can't trust him, but knowing his opinion about the Observer Program...I don't want to be tainted by association. Not with Gibbs."

"You think he'd go that way?"

"I don't know, but considering how hard things are right now, I don't want to risk it."

"All right.

"Tom...one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"We need to get some sort of program in place for the soon-to-be-unemployed."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I've been doing when these Observers get fired...and what sometimes happens. We have too many people working as Observers who have made it their entire lives, who feel there is nothing of value to them without this work. They deserve to be prepared for something more after the Observer Program vanishes into nothing. With the money we're saving by getting others out of it, we can put _something_ in place to help. Really help, not just a severance package. We need to psychologically prepare these people for what's coming."

Morrow looked at Stan thoughtfully for a few silent seconds and then nodded.

"You're right. I'll give it a think and bring it up with the Council. Right now, I have to go and have a meeting with one of the Congress subcommittees...drop a few hints about the Observers outgrowing their usefulness."

"Good luck."

"You, too, Stan. Try to sleep on the plane at least."

"I'll try."

"And fail?"

"More than likely. See you later." Stan got to his feet and left the room.

Morrow stared after him for a few seconds. Were all the sacrifices that had been made for this program worth it? His own life had been saved more than once by the intervention of an Observer. Many officers all over the country could say the same. ...but was it worth it? Whether it was or not, they had it and they were getting rid of it. That was what mattered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You make sure you tell someone, Tim. No hiding it," Ian said firmly.

"I'm going to call my parents as soon as I get home," Tim said quietly, still a bit stunned.

"Good...but you need to tell someone else besides your parents. You can't hide what happened...okay?"

Tim smiled a little. "Okay. I won't. I'll...tell someone tonight."

"Good. Anyone coming to pick you up today?"

Tim shook his head. "I have a cab waiting."

"Go on, then. See you tomorrow."

"Right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So has Tim showed you his yoga skills yet?" Abby asked as she waited for Gibbs to arrive.

"Yoga skills?" Tony asked. "I thought he was learning how to walk, not to be a peaceful camel or whatever they call those poses."

Abby laughed. "Peaceful camel?"

"Why not? I know they have dogs and cows. Why not camels?"

"Well, yoga is supposed give you strength and balance, Tony," Ziva said. "Animals do well at that. Better than _you_ on some nights."

"Ha ha. Have _you_ seen him do yoga?"

"No. He does not speak much of his therapy at all to me. Does he tell you, Abby?"

Abby shrugged. "Not a lot. I think he's still really self-conscious about all the attention he's getting from us. He's not used to being so popular."

"Does he dislike it?" Ziva asked.

"I don't think so," Abby said. "...but he does still find it strange. After so many years of operating beneath everyone's notice. I don't blame him for feeling weird about having lots of friends. Besides, I don't think he's really adjusted to not working 24/7."

"Apparently, you all have," Gibbs said as he came into the lab. "Anything you have to tell me besides gossip?"

Abby grinned and started to make a sassy retort but she subsided at Gibbs' expression.

"Absolutely, Gibbs," she said. "I've got loads of stuff to tell you...but I've got gossip, too...if you're interested."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He just gestured for her to get on with it. Abby curtsied and did so. Their latest case was a complicated one, involving theft, murder...and some really annoying witnesses. As Abby went through the information she'd pulled from the camera, it was clear that everyone wanted the case to be solved...right then and there.

Five minutes into Abby's explanation, Gibbs' phone rang. He looked at it and then chose to answer, cutting off the details that he didn't care about anyway.

"Yeah? Sure. Of course. Okay." Then, he hung up.

"Who was it, Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs just looked at him.

"Go on, Abbs," he said.

Abby smiled and went on.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was sitting in his apartment quietly...as he had been for the last hour. His session today... His parents wouldn't be here until the weekend but he had called them and told them. They had been about as flummoxed as he had been. Actually, it was questionable as to whether Tim himself, Ian or his parents had been more surprised.

He had just called Gibbs and asked him to come, not really sure why but wanting to have someone around. As nice as everyone was, he still wasn't quite as comfortable with them as he was with Gibbs. He hadn't been _their_ voice. He'd been Gibbs' voice.

A deep breath.

Exhale.

Another deep breath.

Another exhalation.

He couldn't believe what had happened. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined it...but it made him feel a bit better that Ian hadn't either. All this time spent doing yoga poses and retraining his cerebellum to function properly...and now...

There was a knock at the door.

"Go let him in, Jethro," Tim said.

Jethro jumped up and nuzzled Tim's face and then pushed the button that would open the door.

"What's up, McGee?"

Tim turned around.

"I...promised Ian that I wouldn't keep this a secret, that I wouldn't act like I was all on my own."

"Okay." Gibbs seemed a bit nonplussed.

Tim smiled. "Ian put me through those tests of balance and stuff like he did at the beginning."

"And?"

Instead of answering, Tim put his hands on the arm of the wheelchair and pushed himself to a standing pose. He wobbled a bit and had to steady himself before straightening up and staring at Gibbs. Eye to eye as he'd never really been able to do before. He was surprised to notice that he was actually slightly taller than Gibbs was. He stood there for a few seconds without speaking. Gibbs didn't speak either. His expression was unreadable. Tim could feel himself losing some of his balance, but he turned to the side and then took the four steps required to get him to the walker that had been added to his arsenal of aids.

By the time he reached the walker, he was at the end of his ability to walk, but he had known that and had intentionally put it that far away. He grabbed the handles before he toppled and turned toward Gibbs again.

Gibbs still hadn't spoken, nor had his expression changed. Tim smiled.

"I'm...learning how to walk again, Gibbs. I'm starting to walk again." Saying the words aloud actually brought a tear to his eyes. He hadn't dared to say those particular words. He'd only told his parents that there had been some improvements that he wanted to show them when they arrived. This was the first time he'd voiced the possibility of really walking.

"I can see that, Tim," Gibbs said softly.

"It's not...not much yet. I still get dizzy and I still lose my balance. I can't do it all yet...but I'm starting to walk. I never...never thought that I'd be able to do this. I haven't really walked since I was sixteen. ...and I'm walking now. Only a little bit, but I'm walking. Do you know what this means?"

"What?" Gibbs asked with a small smile.

"It means that..." Tim hesitated before saying it. "It means that...that I could walk..._really_ walk again. Even if I end up needing a cane for the rest of my life...I could...walk without braces, without a walker."

Gibbs' smile widened and then Tim got it.

"Say it, Gibbs. I know you want to."

"Can't yet."

"Why not?"

"You'll see. Give me a few more weeks. Then, I'll say it."

"Okay."

"And, Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"You've always been more than a voice."

"Maybe. Maybe not. ...but I'm seeing more now, Gibbs."

"Don't hide from the people who care, all right?"

"Right," Tim said with a nod.

Gibbs turned to go and then he turned back.

"Good job, Tim."

"Thanks, Gibbs."

As little as it was, that was all Gibbs needed to say right then. Tim watched him go and then moved the walker back to his wheelchair. He sank down to the seat. It wasn't easy yet. It wasn't automatic. It took effort and concentration. ...but that was okay.

...because now, for the first time, Tim had hope.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Over the next few months, there was a dramatic change in Tim. His therapy continued as usual, but those times when he hung out with the others, he was different. He was...more free than he had been. The first time he publicly used a walker instead of a wheelchair, Abby gave him a standing ovation. He flushed when everyone else joined in, but there was a glow of pride on his face that had always been absent before...a kind of self-confidence, but more than that. Although it was never spoken of out loud, there was a sense that Tim was starting to see value in himself...just as a human being. It was something none of the others had really questioned before, but seeing the new light in Tim's eyes helped them realize just what had been missing before.

After two months of the walker, Tim graduated to using two forearm crutches. They were awkward for him at first and he took more than one tumble without the sure guidance that the walker had provided. It made his confidence falter somewhat. ...and surprisingly, it was Tony and Ziva who stepped up and helped him through this rough patch.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I am not sure of this, Tony," Ziva said. "Perhaps he will not appreciate our interference."

"He'll hate it," Tony agreed, "but only at first. We just have to agree to keep after him until he gives in. Got it?"

"Very well." She knocked on the door.

As had become usual, Jethro was the one who let them in. He was right there as the door opened and then barked excitedly at the sight of two people he'd come to know.

"Who is it?" Tim called out.

"Just us, McGee," Tony said.

They heard the telltale sound of the walker. Tim tended to fluctuate between the walker and the crutches now, as he had bounced back and forth between the wheelchair and the walker at first.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, emerging with a puzzled expression on his face.

"We're your physical therapists for today, McGee."

As Ziva had predicted, Tim instantly looked wary. He still hadn't wanted them to see his sessions. Therapy was where he fell down, where he made mistakes, where how far he had to go was patently obvious.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we talked with Ian and he agreed that we would take you to your therapy session today...and that we'd be your spotters."

"Why?"

"Because Ian needs a day off," Tony said.

Ziva smacked his arm.

"That is _not_ why, McGee," she said giving Tony an evil look. "It is because we wish to be of help to you."

"Ian is a good physical therapist. Why do you think I need you?" Tim asked, falling back on being blunt as a shield against this unexpected development.

Tony smiled, but he was serious now. "To help you get over being embarrassed. We think what you're doing is...really amazing, McGee. And it's ridiculous that you think you need to hide parts of what you're doing to save face or something. You don't."

"Please, Tim," Ziva said, "allow us to help you. It is what friends do."

It was clear that Tim didn't want to, that he was struggling against his own natural inclinations...but after a few moments, he nodded. Tony didn't give him a chance to change his mind. He gathered up everything Tim needed and bustled them all out the door. All during that day, Tony and Ziva acted as Tim's spotters when he was working on his balance exercises. Ziva did yoga with him. Tony even got a pair of forearm crutches himself and hobbled around with Tim, not leaving him behind, but walking with him on Tim's terms rather than his own.

...but by the end of the session, Tony noticed something about the crutches.

"Man, McGee...doesn't that kill your arms?"

"What?"

"These crutches! I think I rubbed all the skin off my arms going around with you today."

Tim smiled and showed his own arms. They were rubbed, but not so badly.

"Mine are fitted to me...and I've built up some callouses now."

"So it doesn't hurt?"

"It does a little bit," Tim said, shrugging. "Most things hurt a little. It's not a big deal." Then, he paused for a moment and took a breath. "...and thanks...both of you...for doing this."

That day turned into a regular occurrence. It wasn't every single day, every session, but whenever they had the time, Tony and Ziva would reprise their roles as Tim's therapists and slowly the confidence that had been shaken by the new step he had taken began to return. After another couple of weeks, Tony appeared with something new.

"Hey, McGee, Abby helped me out and I got you some chaps!"

Tim's eyes widened and he looked from Tony to Abby to Ziva and back again. "Um...what?"

"Arm chaps."

"What?" he asked again.

"Oh, Tim!" Abby said with a grin. "They're for when you use your crutches! Tony mentioned that you get some chafing from them. These'll help you avoid that! I even got you different colors! Tony helped me pick them out...and we got your arm measurements."

"How?"

"Oh...I have my ways. Try them on!"

Tim allowed Abby to push him down to a chair, pull off his crutches and then put on a pair of bright orange chaps.

"Beautiful!"

"I'm not so sure I agree on the beautiful part," Tim said.

"Nonsense," Ziva said. "They will match the walls of NCIS when you come to work with us again."

Everyone paused and stared at her in surprise. She looked back at them with equal surprise.

"We all know that this is the final goal. Why are you staring at me?" She looked at Tim. "You have always wished to work for NCIS, yes?"

"Yeah...but..."

"And you have worked as Gibbs' Observer...and he feels you have important skills he does not wish to lose, correct?"

"I...I guess."

"This is still something you want, is it not?" she asked, more gently now.

"Yeah," Tim whispered.

She smiled. "Then, that is what we are doing...preparing you to join us because if you want to work for NCIS, you will always have a place on our team."

Tim looked down for a few seconds and they were worried that they'd traumatized him...but then he looked up and smiled...but with tears in his eyes. He couldn't speak.

He didn't need to.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

And time went on. Tim continued to develop his balance skills. Ian didn't feel he'd plateaued at all and that he still had further to go. Tim had days where he worried that he wasn't really making progress as he continued with the crutches...but Ian continued to encourage him and after another couple of months, Tim moved to only one forearm crutch. Again, the transition was difficult, but again, the others stepped up and helped him through it. His family came when they could, but the support group Tim was forming with the NCIS team was helping him open up and develop in ways Sam and Naomi hadn't thought possible.

He wasn't suddenly the life of the party nor even especially garrulous, but he was more complete, more whole. What the accident and then his time as an Observer had taken away was now being returned. In spades. It wasn't just in the actions of Tony and Ziva, in the kind interference of Abby...nor even the rougher concern shown by Gibbs. There were other moments, other people...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Oh, dear. It looks as though Timothy might be gone somewhere, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said, clucking with dismay. "All his lights are out."

"We know he's not with Abby or Tony or Ziva or Gibbs," Jimmy said with a smile. "Who else would he be with?"

"We are not with him every moment of the day. He may have other friends."

"I doubt it, Dr. Mallard...and so do you."

Ducky gave a mock severe look that didn't cow Jimmy in the least.

"Maybe he's at the park. He goes there a lot, doesn't he?"

"Perhaps."

Together, they walked toward the park that Tim frequented. As they came around a corner, they saw a group of men surrounding a figure on the ground...and a dog growling at them as he attempted to fend them off.

"Timothy," Ducky said in shock.

Jimmy looked at Ducky for a moment and then ran toward the group.

"Mr. Palmer! Jimmy, wait!" Ducky called after him.

The group of men heard and turned around, saw Jimmy charging toward them and scattered. ...not because Jimmy himself was frightening but because there were now witnesses to whatever they had planned on doing.

"Tim!" Jimmy said. "Are you all right?"

Jethro was still growling.

"Jethro, it's okay. I'm going to help."

Another low warning growl. Then, finally, Tim himself moved, rolled toward Jimmy.

"It's okay, Jethro," he whispered, his voice shaky.

"You okay, Tim?" Jimmy asked.

Tim winced as he started to sit up.

"No, Timothy. Don't move too much yet," Ducky said as he reached them. "If there's serious damage..."

"There's not," Tim said, shaking his head. "Just my pride...my pants...and my hands." He held out his hands and it was clear that he'd taken a bad tumble.

"What happened?"

Tim laughed a little and shook his head. "I've been coming to this park for almost ten years and never had a single person bug me. I guess it was my turn. They started pushing me around and...and I can't go fast enough to get away. One of them pushed me down." He looked back at the crutches he'd lost. "Jethro was keeping them back, but I don't...think he'd..."

Jethro nuzzled Tim's face and Jimmy saw tears in Tim's eyes as he hugged his dog.

Tim took a quick breath.

"It's just a...a shock."

"Of course, Timothy," Ducky said.

He insisted on checking Tim over before letting him get up. His hands had been bruised and scraped. He'd landed hard. His knees were bloody, too, but nothing serious.

"I think, Timothy, that you'd be better off letting Jimmy support you on the way home rather than putting pressure on your hands until we can bandage them up."

Tim looked reluctant but he nodded. Jimmy smiled and let Tim get up mostly by himself and then he gave a little bit of support, letting Tim decide how much help he needed. Ducky carried the crutches. It took a while to get back. Tim was slow and he was limping more than a little, but they made it.

"First aid kit?" Ducky asked.

"Bathroom. Under the sink," Tim said and winced as Jimmy lowered him to a chair.

Ducky came out with the kit and knelt down.

"I can do it, Ducky," Tim said.

"Allow me. It will be a neater job if you don't have to administer to your own injuries." He and Jimmy cleaned Tim's palms and Tim winced. "Oh. I think you may need stitches on your left hand. This looks rather nasty."

"Great. It's hard enough to walk," Tim said glumly. "How can I even use the crutches if I can't put any weight on my hand?"

"You're using only one a lot now, aren't you?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah...not as much for long distances yet, though."

"Well, this will just help you along. You caught yourself mostly with your left hand rather than your right. If you can let your right hand heal a bit first, you'll be able to use just that one, right?"

"I guess."

"Of course, right!" Jimmy said triumphantly.

Tim laughed and let them help him to the ER where he did indeed need some stitches on his left hand. Neither knee needed it, and his right hand was not too bad. Still, it would be painful for a few weeks and Tim's therapy would suffer a bit as his hands healed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The weeks Tim couldn't continue with his usual therapy saw a bit of a backtracking in his confidence. He was a bit anxious about going out...understandably so, but no one wanted him to lose that part of himself. They all took turns visiting him and making sure he still went to his chosen sites.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Timothy, how are you doing?" Ducky asked as they sat on a bench.

Tim shrugged. "It's...hard not being able to get around like I was before. It's funny because I couldn't do even this much a few months ago."

"You're making excellent progress. I don't blame you for wanting to do more."

Tim smiled. "Ducky?"

"Yes?"

"You were trained as a doctor, right?"

"Yes, I was."

"What do you think?"

"About what?

"About how much further I can go?"

"I am definitely not an expert."

"Yeah, but you know this stuff. You know anatomy."

Ducky patted Tim's shoulder.

"I'm not a neurologist. Not by any stretch of the imagination, Timothy, but I do believe that you're making a lot of progress and that you're not done with that yet. This has been a bit of a setback, I understand, but you shouldn't let that get to you. It's important that you keep up your good attitude."

"You've got a story about this?"

Ducky chuckled. "Actually, I do. Slightly different from you, but there was a great orator in ancient Greece by the name of Demosthenes. He was born with a speech impediment. He had a difficult time pronouncing the Greek letter _rho_. He also had problems with enunciation. He was taunted for his difficulties and he could have let that stop him, but instead, he set about training himself out of his impediment and he worked on his diction...to the point that he became known as one of the greatest orators in all of ancient Greece. What you are doing is a bit more serious, but you need to keep trying and keep fighting for improvements."

Tim looked out at the park and whistled for Jethro to come back. Then, he stood up and they slowly headed back to his apartment, Ducky walking close beside him, ready to help him should he falter. Tim was quiet for a few minutes but then, as they stopped at an intersection, he looked at Ducky.

"Thank you," he said.

"My pleasure, Timothy," Ducky said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Two more months passed and Tim was getting a lot more confident with his forearm crutch. While Ian had encouraged him, it was Tim who made the decision to give a full on demonstration. He asked everyone to come and although he was nervous he was ready to show everyone how far he'd come.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay," Tim said, looking around at the group. He stood up, still with some help, and he took a deep breath.

"Go on, Tim," Ian urged him.

Tim nodded and set the crutch to the side. He straightened and then took a step...and another step. They were slow but sure. He wobbled a little bit about halfway through, but he paused and rebalanced himself and then walked again. It was slow. It wasn't anything amazing on the surface. Tim was simply walking in a straight line. ...but he was doing it. He walked the full twenty feet and then turned around and headed back. He began to lose his balance halfway through, and he was clearly having trouble regaining it. Ian began to head over, but Gibbs shook his head. Instead, he pulled out a package, pulled the protective paper off it and walked over to where Tim had faltered. He put a steadying hand on Tim's arm and then carefully slid the cane into position. Tim looked at it, noticing that it didn't feel like his crutch. Then, he looked at Gibbs in bewilderment.

"Gibbs...what is–?"

"Finish, Tim," Gibbs said and stepped back.

Tim did, putting more pressure on the cane than he might have needed to had he been completely focused on his walking. When he reached the end, everyone applauded, but Tim lifted the cane and looked at it closely.

"Gibbs..."

"You needed something better than the crutch," he said.

"But this...it must have taken you forever!"

"A few months."

Tim looked at it and then at Gibbs and then back at the cane again. It was a polished cane made out of bloodwood. The main section was carved with shapes that gave it the look of a wave on the ocean. It was fairly heavy but very sturdy. The handle was not just a regular cane handle. Instead, there was a place for his hand to rest, but then the handle twisted upward into a rest for his forearm. It gave the stability of the crutch, but without the chafing.

"It's beautiful, Gibbs...I don't...know what to say."

"Could say thank you," Gibbs said with a smile.

Tim sank down onto the chair and lifted the cane into his lap.

"That's not even close to enough. This is...perfect." He ran his hands over it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I don't deserve something like this."

"Yeah, you do."

Ducky stood and walked over. "May I see it, Timothy?"

Tim nodded, but he only released it reluctantly. Ducky looked it over and his action seemed to give everyone else permission to look closely as well.

"Wow, Boss," Tony said. "This is pretty cool."

"I love it, Gibbs!" Abby said happily. "It's cool." She kissed him on the cheek and then ran over to Tim and did the same thing. "You're so lucky!"

"I guess so," Tim said.

Sam and Naomi looked at the cane and appreciated it, but most of their attention was on Tim. He looked at them and gave a smile that was nothing short of shocked...but he was happy, too.

"Give it a spin, Tim," Sam said. "Show it off."

Tim laughed and took the cane back from Ducky. He pushed himself to his feet again and began to walk around the room, leaning on the cane when he needed the extra help in maintaining his balance. Then, he walked over to Gibbs and looked him in the eye.

"Well?" he asked, smiling...although he knew there were tears in his eyes.

Gibbs grinned. "I told you so, McGee."

"You were right, Gibbs. Now what?"

"That's up to you. What do _you_ want?"

Tim looked at the cane and then looked at his parents...and then at his new circle of friends.

He smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

_One month later..._

"...and I hope you don't expect to be coddled. I've modified the program for what you're capable of, but I'm not accepting anything less than what I expect of my other students. You'll pass all the theoretical courses and prove your prowess with weaponry. Obviously, you won't be up to par in the athleticism, but by golly, you'd better show that you have the endurance for..."

Tim sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"Excuse me, sir. May I interrupt you for just a moment?" he asked.

Jason Cogsworth, the head of FLETC, paused, clearly surprised at Tim's question.

"What?" he asked.

"I didn't ask to be coddled. I didn't ask for special treatment. If I'm not going to be able to handle a gun or handle the other aspects of law enforcement, then I won't be qualified to be a federal agent. I know that. I was an Observer. I've seen what can happen as a result of incompetence. I have no interest in adding to that. While things are improving, we still have a long way to go and I don't want anyone having to compensate for a lack on my part. If, at the end of this training, you feel I can't hack it...tell me that I can't. ...but don't assume that I can't before you've seen what I can do. Let me try at least."

He looked at Tim closely for a few seconds.

"Okay. Show me what you can do."

Tim smiled. "I will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Former FBI agent Jason Cogsworth hadn't wanted to allow Tim McGee to attend FLETC. It seemed ridiculous that a man who couldn't walk without an aid was going to somehow become a federal agent. He had protested, but with applications down and need up...and when the head of a federal agency insisted... You didn't reject an applicant, even if he needed a cane to get around.

So he had admitted Tim, accepted the modifications recommended and was determined either to show that there was no place for Tim in the ranks of law enforcement or to force Tim to meet the requirements for graduation...something he doubted was possible.

Or he _had_ doubted it was possible until he watched Tim struggle. There was no doubt that he was smart enough to run circles around the other students. His facility with computers was nothing short of amazing, and he was close enough to a genius that he knew more than many of the instructors. He wasn't very good with weaponry, and there was clearly something that was bothering him about it. He was improving in the area of firearms, but hand to hand...knives. Those disturbed him.

More than all that, though, was Tim's determination. He would _not_ give up on trying to accomplish this goal he'd inexplicably set for himself. Three weeks in, Jason was making the rounds of the grounds and he saw two people out on the track. Curious about who was working out at this time of the evening, he walked over. What he saw surprised him. Tim McGee and one of the other students, Jim Nelson, were making their way around the track. Jim had been an agent years before, but had been a casualty of the crime war. His injuries had been severe enough both phsyically and psychologically that he'd been homebound for years. He'd finally decided he wanted to try again. That these two men seemed to be friends was something he hadn't considered as a possibility. He watched them for a moment and then continued on his way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I can't make it, Jim," Tim said, panting.

"Yeah, you can."

"No...I can't. I won't be able to hit this one."

"Come on, Tim! You were only two minutes off." Jim laughed. "If you really push yourself, you'll make it."

Tim paused for a moment and panted some more. "It's...It's not like I'll ever be able to outrun anyone anyway. I'm dependent on this cane for any type of speed. Everyone knows it already. If my survival depends on being able to run...I'm dead."

"Keep going. All of us have limits to how fast we can run. Your job won't be about running, but physical fitness is still important."

Tim shook his head but headed for the finish line once more.

"You sound like...like Jack LaLanne."

"Who?"

Tim laughed tiredly as he finally reached the finish line, staggered to the grass and collapsed to the ground.

"Never mind."

Jim walked over and sat down beside him.

"You have a bigger problem than your time on the track, you know," he said.

"Yeah, I know," Tim said, gouging the ground with the end of his cane.

"You ready to talk about it, yet? You're not going to get over it until you do."

Tim smiled. "I've talked about it before. Hasn't helped yet."

"Recently? Since you started getting training?"

"No."

"Come on, Tim. I'm not going to tell anyone, not if you don't want anyone to know."

Tim shrugged and then got back to his feet. "I need to cool down."

Jim laughed. "Tim, you can't avoid me that way. I can walk faster than you."

Tim smiled a little and started walking around the track, leaning on the cane as little as possible.

"Tim...come on. Trust me."

Tim stared at the track as he began to talk.

"I killed a man. It was... Did you know that I was an Observer before I came here?"

"An Observer? Really?"

"Yeah. I was captured along with one of my charges. We were taken to Cumberland."

"Wait! I remember that! It was...you?"

"Yeah. Me and Gibbs."

"What happened?"

"They didn't trust Gibbs. I couldn't even stand really before...so..."

"You had to be the one who could get close enough..."

"Yeah." Tim stopped and leaned on the cane. He looked across the track back toward the buildings. "Gibbs had a knife they hadn't found when they searched him. That was our only weapon. I'd never...never held a weapon before. Not once in my life. ...and then, suddenly, I had to kill someone. He was...a criminal, but..." Tim shook his head. "I can still feel his blood on my hands from when I stabbed him. Every time I..."

Jim just nodded. "I get it."

Tim took a breath and then turned back toward his room.

"I'm ready to go back now."

"Me, too."

They walked together. Tim was impressed that, no matter how slowly he walked, Jim never acted bothered by it and he never tried to rush Tim.

"Well, turn about is fair play," he said after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"You told me what's eating you. I was an NCIS agent about ten years ago. I was almost killed. I was in a hospital for a long time and in rehab even longer. By the time I was healed enough to take care of myself...I'd lost any desire to go back to my job. I couldn't face the possibility of dying again. So I went back to college and got another degree instead. Finally, a few months ago, I went to my old boss and asked him if there was any possibility of coming back to work. He said I'd have to go through FLETC again and that I probably wouldn't be based on the West Coast anymore. That's fine with me." They paused so that Tim could catch his breath. "You're afraid of having to kill someone again. I'm still afraid for a second every time I open a closed door. ...but the important thing is that I still open the door."

"I guess that's what I still need to learn to do," Tim said finally.

Jim clapped him on the shoulder...nearly throwing Tim to the ground.

"Oops. Don't worry. You will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As the weeks passed, Tim surpassed the expectations established for his performance. The only hiccup occurred when it was suddenly apparent that he hadn't driven in more than a decade. That led to a crash course in driver's ed. In a way, it was a blessing because with the rushed nature of Tim's reintroduction to driving, he didn't have time to think about it and compare it to his last driving experience.

By the end of his FLETC training, the naysayers had ceased complaining about Tim's presence. He never was able to run. He couldn't perform most of the physical requirements at even a fraction of the same level as the rank-and-file. ...but he more than made up for that with his unceasing determination to prove himself as able as possible. One of the combat instructors took the time to teach Tim how to use what ability he had in such a way that he could at least defend himself for a little while. It would likely not give him the upper hand, but it would keep any opponent from instantly taking him down due to his disability.

In short, everything Tim could do, he did.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee!"

Tim sat up quickly, nearly banging his head on the weights he'd been lifting.

"Yeah?"

"Cogsworth wants to see you, ASAP."

"Really? Why?"

"Didn't tell me. Get going."

"Right."

Tim grabbed his cane and hurried out of the gym as quickly as he could. This wasn't Gibbs' cane he was using right now. When he went to work out, he found he preferred having a basic metal cane. That way, he didn't worry about ruining it. The cane Gibbs had made for him still seemed like a beautiful work of art, something not to be taken for granted.

He stopped at his room, changed his clothes and then headed to the main office.

"Agent Cogsworth is expecting you, Mr. McGee. Go right on in."

Tim nodded and smiled before walking into the office.

"Have a seat," Agent Cogsworth said.

Tim did so.

"We're nearing the end of this session," he said.

"Yes, sir, I know."

"If you were to evaluate your own performance, how would you describe it? Strengths? Weaknesses?"

Tim wasn't sure how to take this, but he took a breath and let it out, falling back onto his Observer training in order to keep all his nerves out of his voice.

"I'm fully competent in all the theoretical courses and all the computer work...but I was before I came here. My accuracy with firearms is within the requirements, although it's nothing stellar. Agent Fuller has taken the time to help me with grappling and other types of fighting. Again, it's nothing stellar, but within the modifications laid out at the beginning. My times around the track are only barely meeting requirements. As far as I am aware, I have reached every bar set for me."

There was a period of silence as the head of FLETC looked at him.

"And do you think you are qualified to be a federal agent?"

"If you mean am I qualified to be a regular field agent...no, and I never will be. I have limitations. However, if you mean am I qualified to be an agent with NCIS in whatever capacity I am needed...then, yes. They'll never use me to chase down a perpetrator, not as I am now. If I ever really can run again, then they'll use me that way...but it's not likely. I'll never have that, sir, but I feel that I am fully qualified to do what I can...as an NCIS agent."

Again, silence. Just that disconcerting stare...and then, what was even more disconcerting, Agent Cogsworth smiled.

"Just how scared _are_ you right now?" he asked.

"Sir?"

Agent Cogsworth turned his head just far enough that Tim could see a recently healed scar behind his ear.

"I had an Observer for a long time. He never showed any sign of anxiety, fear or concern either. How worried are you that I've asked you here to tell you that you're not cutting the mustard?"

"Terrified, sir," Tim said.

"You don't show it...except in your eyes. I can see that you're worried."

"Why _did_ you ask me here, sir?"

"To tell you that I agree completely with your summation. You'll need to work on your accuracy with firearms, but it's adequate. You're not ready to be a field agent in the common sense of the word, but...and if you tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it...I think that the FBI's lost out in not taking the initiative for getting you out of Cumberland. They could have used you. You'll graduate with the rest of your group." Then, the camaraderie was gone as if it had never been. "That's all..._Agent_ McGee."

Tim smiled and stood up.

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

Tim nodded and walked out, almost forgetting to use his cane...until he started to lose his balance and was then grateful that he had it securely in his hand.

Agent McGee. Agent McGee. Agent McGee.

It went through his head a hundred times. Tim had never thought this would be possible. He had mostly enjoyed his time at FLETC, but now, he couldn't wait for this last week to be over so that he could go back to DC...and go to NCIS...really be there.

He'd see it with his own eyes.

_I'm an agent._

Then, as he stood and looked up at the blue sky above him, he remembered something that Gibbs had said to him.

_I'm not just a voice anymore. I'm NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee._

If he wasn't so aware of others around him, Tim would have laughed out of sheer delight. Instead, he hurried off to find Jim and tell him.

He couldn't wait.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two weeks later..._

Tim's hand was sweaty as it grasped the cane. He'd never been to this building before. Not once in his life and it had been the focus of so much of his life. Now, he stood on the sidewalk and stared at it with a giddy smile on his face. He was fairly certain that he looked stupid, but he didn't care.

"You going in?"

Tim jumped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Hi...Boss," he said and smiled.

Gibbs' mouth twitched in an almost-smile.

"You don't have to call me that."

"I know. I want to."

"Go ahead, then. You coming?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to wake up from a dream."

_Thwack!_

"You're awake already. If you weren't, that would have jolted you out of it. Come on."

Tim laughed and followed Gibbs inside. He got his official ID and then went up in the elevator with Gibbs to the bullpen. As he stepped off, he looked around and smiled at the orange walls...and then at his orange arm chap which he had worn just so that he could match these walls.

Tony and Ziva both saw him as he came in. They stood and smiled.

"McGee! It is good to see you. Welcome," Ziva said.

"Probie! I've been _dying_ to have a probie of my very own. Ziva doesn't count cause she could kill me and didn't let me get away with it for very long."

Tim still had a moment of trying to grasp Tony's intended meaning, but he smiled.

"Where's my desk?" he asked, savoring the concept of having his own desk.

Ziva pointed to the empty desk across from Gibbs'.

"That is yours. I believe Abby was getting it ready for you."

"Ready?"

Tim walked over and smiled. There was a cane holder sitting by his chair, along with a special extension to hold...other things, although he didn't know what those things might be at this point.

The elevator dinged.

"TIMMY! You're here!"

That was all the warning he got before Abby slammed into him and would have knocked him down had it not been for Gibbs' quick reflexes.

"Abby, don't kill him on his first day!" Tony said...but he was laughing.

"Welcome to NCIS, Tim!" Abby said as she finally let him regain his footing.

"Thanks...I think," Tim said, but he couldn't help smiling himself.

"Do you like your desk?"

"I love it."

Gibbs' phone rang. He answered and listened for a minute or two. Then, he hung up.

"Grab your gear," he said. "Let's roll."

"Me, too...Boss?" Tim asked.

Gibbs stopped, turned and looked at him. "You're on my team, aren't you, McGee? Let's go."

Tim just smiled like an idiot and followed the others onto the elevator. He was so happy to be here, to be doing this that he wasn't sure he could stand it. Oh, he knew there'd be days of drudgery, but having a job he loved with people he liked and respected...that would make up for any number of annoyances.

"You're part of the team, Tim," Gibbs said softly. "Don't forget that."

"I won't."


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_One year later..._

It was late in the evening when Tim sat back from his computer, looked at Gibbs and seemed to come to a decision. He got up and walked over.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee? You should have left already."

"I know. There's...something I need to tell you. I wasn't sure if it was my place to talk about it."

"About what?" Gibbs look up.

"Something I probably should have said a while ago..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan Burley sat on a pier and watched as the USS _Nimitz_ pulled away from the harbor. Time had not been kind to him. He was actually on a forced vacation right now...so worn down from the work he did that he'd actually collapsed and spent a week in the hospital.

Now, he watched the carrier slowly head back out to the open sea. Maybe some day, he could go back to that...but not for years yet.

Then, he heard someone behind him.

"Hi, Stan."

The voice was vaguely familiar and he turned around.

"Who is it?"

There was a soft clump and a figure came into view, leaning slightly on a cane.

"Tim McGee."

Stan laughed. "You're kidding. You look pretty different from how I saw you before."

"Yeah. I'd hardly recognize you, either. What happened?"

Stan shrugged and turned back to the harbor.

"Life as an Observer."

"I never got this bad, Stan."

"Yeah. Haven't been sleeping very well." That was the understatement of the century, Stan knew. He'd actually become addicted to sleeping pills, had broken his addiction...and then stopped sleeping which had led to his precipitous collapse...but he didn't say any of that. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I was an Observer, too...and I haven't forgotten how to find people just because I don't have a com in my ear anymore."

"You sound a lot better, Tim."

"I am."

"Still using a cane?"

Tim came up right beside him. Stan noticed that the cane was almost a work of art. A well-used work of art, but a work of art nonetheless.

"Yes. I plateaued in my improvement a couple of months ago. Ian, my physical therapist, says that any gains I have now won't come from therapy. He doesn't think I'll get any better than I am now, but he didn't say that."

"How are you taking it?"

Tim shrugged. "It was hard to accept at first...but I always knew I wasn't likely to be running. I have a good life. ...and a lot is going right for me."

"How good are you now?"

"I can walk around without any aids at all, provided I go slowly. If I want to have any kind of speed, I need the cane. If the ground is unstable, I need the cane. ...but I can turn around quickly and keep my balance. I can bend over and pick stuff off the floor if I drop something. I'm not perfect, but I'm so much better than I was..."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now...what made you search for me?"

"A few reasons, actually. Do you mind if we sit down? I'm starting to feel a bit off balance."

"Sure." Stan pointed to a bench. He sat and stared out at the ship. "Man, I wish I was aboard her right now."

"Not me. I get seasick," Tim said.

Stan chuckled. "I don't. I was on Gibbs' team for a few years and then had a chance to be an Agent Afloat. Never wanted to leave it."

"But you did."

"Had other things to do." Stan looked at the cane. "Gibbs make that?"

"Yeah." Tim smiled and Stan was almost jealous of the happiness and contentment Tim obviously felt.

"So why are you here?"

Tim leaned the cane against the bench and faced Stan.

"First, I wanted to say thank you."

Stan let out a sarcastic chuckle. "For what? For enforcing the unreasonable rules that caused you to lose your job and question your value?"

"Yes," Tim said simply.

Surprised, Stan looked over at him.

"I don't think you could possibly understand how that felt. I would never have gone...as far as other people you've tried to help, but knowing that it wasn't because I myself was wanting but that it was how the program was _supposed_ to run. That helped me. I've never been especially good at the whole self-confidence thing. My whole life revolved around being useful as an Observer. I'd almost my family because of it. It was all I had that I felt made me worthwhile. Gibbs helped a lot, but it was knowing that there was more to it than what had happened. It was important for me to know that...and to know that there was someone in the Observer program who cared."

Stan didn't know what to say. He just shrugged. "It's my job."

Tim was quiet for a few seconds and then he put a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"I saw the story about you in the paper. They didn't identify you by name, but the picture was pretty clear."

"Not my most graceful moment," Stan said.

"It's kind of why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"You've bought into it, haven't you?"

"Into what?"

"The rules."

Stan sat up. "I can't, in good conscience, enforce rules I don't follow myself."

"Even rule number one?"

"Especially that one."

"But you believe it, don't you. You're not just following it anymore. You believe it's right."

Stan was about to deny it but then he laughed in surprise. "You're right...I do. I don't know when that happened. You'd think I could have avoided it."

Tim shook his head. "I bought into it, too. We all do. The way things are set up pretty much guarantees it. Those rules are our prison...and you're fighting to get everyone out of it."

"You're making it sound pretty grand, Tim."

"I know...and I know it's not really, but what I see...I don't like it, Stan."

"I'm not particularly enamored myself," Stan said and looked off into the distance. The _Nimitz_ was slowly picking up speed.

"And that's the last reason I'm here...and the reason why I'm not here alone."

"Who else is–?"

A voice came out of the darkness.

"You've looked better, Stan."

Stan looked at Tim and then at Gibbs as he came over to join them.

"You told him?"

Gibbs answered. "He told me. Why didn't you?"

Stan shrugged again. "I knew how you felt about the Observers. I didn't want to be lumped into it. I don't feel about the program like you do, Gibbs. Never have...and even seeing what I've seen...I don't think I ever will. I think it was necessary. I think we needed it...and I think we don't anymore. I didn't want to be on the wrong side of you."

"You aren't."

"Even if I don't think the Observers are the horrible group you think they are?"

Gibbs smiled. "Even then."

Stan looked down, but he didn't say a word for a while. He didn't want to admit it, but the fact that Gibbs didn't hold him in contempt for the job he was doing meant more than he had thought it would.

"Thanks, Boss," he said finally...very softly.

Gibbs walked over and sat down on the other side of Stan.

"So...you're trying to make the Observers obsolete?"

"Yeah. We hit a snag a few months back...that car bomb in Houston. Panicked a few people. It's taken a lot more work to get the notion of the Observer Program ending in people's minds. They want protection. They want to be safe. I don't blame them for that."

"You may have heard already, but NCIS is out. Completely."

"I hadn't heard. When did that happen?"

"Last week, I think. The San Diego office pulled out. They were the last ones. NCIS is out...and we lord it over the others every chance we get."

"Thanks. The FBI has been dragging its feet."

"That's why I brought Gibbs along," Tim said.

"To get the FBI out?"

Tim shook his head. "No...not exactly. I..._we_ want to help you in what you're doing. There's no reason you have to do it all yourself, Stan. I know what being an Observer is like. I know what the capabilities are...and I know what's wrong. I don't advertise that I was an Observer, but I do tell people about it, and I tell them my experiences. It will help make it...more real."

"It's not going to end in a year. Maybe not in two years," Stan said.

"No, but that doesn't mean it can't end faster with more people helping," Gibbs said.

"And besides...having people who know...that makes a difference," Tim added. "You can't do this alone anymore. You must know that."

"Yeah, I do," Stan said. "Three suicides in the last month. I was too slow."

"It's not your fault," Gibbs said. "...and I don't ever want you thinking like an Observer, Stan. Your life has value."

Tim smiled suddenly. "You're not just a voice in someone's ear. You matter. A smart person told me that everyone's life has value. It's not about being important. It's about being human."

"Sounds like Ducky."

"It was."

Stan laughed and then looked out at the harbor. "I miss the ocean."

"Let us help you then," Tim said. "Help you get back there."

"I don't even know where to start."

"Well, you're not starting _anything_ for a few more days," Gibbs said severely. "Morrow told me what you've been doing...after I threatened him. You're taking a break and then..._then_, we'll make a plan. _We_ will make a plan. Clear?"

"Clear, Boss. Crystal clear."

The three of them stood up. Tim set the pace, since he was slower than the other two, but Stan was glad of it himself. He was still worn out and more fragile than he'd like to admit.

He paused on the end of the pier and Tim stopped beside him.

"How did you do it, Tim?" Stan asked.

Tim looked at Stan and then at Gibbs. "When I was attacked, I lay on the floor of my apartment and asked if anyone could hear me. No one could. I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Now...I know that I'm not. Now, I'm hearing what people have been telling me. I'm more than a voice. I'm a human being." Tim smiled then. "And so are you."

Stan laughed softly. "Yeah. Some day, I'm sure I'll even believe it again."

"You will...if you listen."

"You coming?" Gibbs called.

"Coming, Boss!" they said in unison and left the pier.

_When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart. _

_For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I'm feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I'm feeling sad, it's my consolation. When I'm feeling happy, it's part of why I feel that way. _

_~Frederick Buechner_

FINIS!


End file.
